


This Corroded Valentine

by 00Wandering_Ghost00



Series: Odes of Corrosion [1]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Attempt at Humor, Bikers, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Organized Crime, Sass, Sexual Content, Snark, pop cultural references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11914524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00Wandering_Ghost00/pseuds/00Wandering_Ghost00
Summary: Set in autumn, 2022, and tells the tale of ex-military vet- turned- biker gang leader John Graves Simcoe, and his struggles with: “normal” people, the police, some federal agents (Culper ring, anyone?), his past that comes back to haunt him, and his ex-girlfriend he left back in England, when he enlisted, and was only 18. Now, decades later, he gets an e-mail from Elizabeth, who is asking for his help. She sailed over the ocean to find him, and to get away from someone or something that is after her. Meanwhile the police and the feds, and some rival gangs all jump at the Rangers’ throat. John has a lot of stuff to juggle with, besides finding out who or what is troubling Elizabeth. She in the meantime manages to get under his skin once more, and bring out the human from the monster. Will John succeed in his task to eliminate all of his enemies, and blow his – maybe only – chance for redemption? We’ll see.ABANDONED PROJECT.





	1. Tension

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Please for all saint’s and sinner’s sake, don’t take this seriously. It’s just written for fun, and my first attempt after a long while at writing a fanfiction so I apologize in advance for the minutes or hours of your life that you wasted on reading this.
> 
> Please also note that English is not my mother-language, so excuse me a few weird wordings or misspellings...or mistakes. Thank you in advance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simcoe dispatches a mole, Ben and his investigators arrive at the crime scene, and... Investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone, but I have a lot on my plate right now, also some major troubles IRL, so for the sake of my other projects, I put this one on hold for... I don't know when. I'm sorry again if you liked this fic, I might return to it if I managed to finish the others I'm working on, but I don't want to make empty promises.

_„I'm in control in this domain_

_I feel at home inside the maze_

_It keeps me safe, it keeps me clean_

_I step aside into the shade…”_

 

Loud and violent electronic music teared into the rainy, smoggy night. People were dancing, and having fun, but the man perching on top of the building didn’t really care much about them. His quarry was just one level below him, talking.

“You don’t know how it goes. If they find me…”

“They won’t do anything.” another voice added. “You just stay here, you’re safe.”

But in that, he was wrong. The man on the roof permitted himself an archaic smile. He was tracking one of the guys below for a week now. And the little morsel was twitchy for a good reason. After all, he was sitting in a club’s all glass penthouse, and Death was looking at him from half a story above. They were talking some more about their possibilities, and tasks ahead, not paying attention to the shadow, that crossed the small terrace to the glass door. The man on the roof decided that he has heard enough.

“I was compromised. They knew who I was. Took them for a while to figure it out, but they did. Their new leader is not one you want to mess with.”

The glass door slid away without a sound. Death stepped in, and started his dance.

 The guy, who was back on him had his head pierced through by a bullet from a suppressed shot, and was dead before he knew what hit him. The talkative one however, was trying to make a run for it. Sadly, Death was slightly faster. He shot the man in the leg, then he put the gun away, as his victim fell to the ground. Ice cold, blue eyes were staring at him, as the killer came closer to his victim, drawing a nasty looking, serrated blade from under his leather coat. The wounded man was really unsure about that he is looking at a human being, and not one of those newly-made military cyborgs.

“Damn you!” he managed to hiss before his assailant stopped next to him, and grabbed him by his hair. He felt the sharp edges of the little notches on his neck.

“Travel safe!” trilled the man with the knife. He had curiously high voice for a man of his size. He then simply shoved the blade into the other man’s throat, and just patiently waited until the Reaper did his grim job. After the deed was done, he cut out the freshly deceased’s tongue, and proceeded to write a note with his blood, on the cream coloured carpet: “Death to all bluecoats.” He even pinned the severed tongue to the carpet with a poker he found next to the fake, electronic fireplace. Before he left the crime scene for good, he took out a small ball from his pocket, and threw it into the room. The little ball exploded, covering everything with traces of protein, dust and chemical residue.

 On the ground level, John Simcoe sat on his faithful bike and kickstarted it. He needed the speed to keep the adrenalin rush. After tonight’s events, pigs will think twice to ever again attempt to send someone under cover into the Rangers’ ranks. It took him a week, until he finally found the mole, and he was irate. Not because the police tried to pull a trick. He was mad at himself, for not realizing it earlier. Hopefully they will learn their lesson. He headed back to the rest of his gang, to their usual headquarters, the bar called Holy Ground.

 Just a few hours later, a crew of investigators and forensics were all over the place in the penthouse room. A fairly tall, young, blonde haired man in a suit that seemed one size smaller than necessary, was looking at the tongueless victim.

“Yes, I know him. He was one of my men.” he said to the coroner. And he blamed himself for not being able to heed the warnings of his now deceased colleagues. The Rangers were no ordinary biker gang, composed of half brain-dead brutes. They had access to information and technology no other crime organization of their level was able to. Ben was wondering if they would be half as dangerous as they were without their support.

“Take them. I’ll talk with the rest of the team.”

The coroner took the bodies away, leaving the other members of the investigator team to their work. Ben walked inside the room, and spotted one of his friends, Caleb, who was examining a big grey blotch on the floor.

“Contamination bomb.” He sighed. “Good luck to the lab if they can find any trace of fingerprints or DNA after one of those.”

“Whoever did this, was taking a big measure of planning to make sure we don’t find anything useful.” Ben added.

“So…” Caleb stood up from his crouching position “…Wanna bet on if our genius Mr. Sackett will be able to scrounge a lead for us, despite the contamination?”

Ben smiled and shook his head.

“We can always hope, but I doubt it.”

Caleb shrugged, like it wouldn’t matter.

“Not much we can do about it, until lab processes what we’ve found, eh?”

Ben looked around and tried to find something. A little piece of information the CSI missed. After a few minutes of analysing the crime scene, he found nothing. Sometimes he envied those members of his unit, who had cybernetic implants. But then he remembered how and why they got them.

“Hey Tallboy, you daydreaming, or what?”

Caleb’s voice dragged Ben back to reality.

“No. No, I was just searching for clues that might have been overlooked.”

“Got a call, we should go back to HQ.”

“Right.”

Caleb left the room, Ben followed. He kept looking back though, because that feeling of forgetting something just won’t stop bothering him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric quote in the beginning scene belongs to Covenant's track, "Tension".  
> Short beginning chapter is short.
> 
> Up next: John gets an e-mail. Caleb, Ben and Anna analyses the stuff they have found, and hints at there's someone in higher rank, protecting Simcoe and the Rangers.


	2. Dear John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our dear John gets an e-mail from someone he didn't see for almost two decades, and it makes things pretty complicated pretty fast. Caleb finds evidence, and hurries an attempt at arresting Simcoe. Anna enters the stage, and hints at there is someone in higher rank protecting the Rangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there dearest readers and passersby! (Or is it passerbys? Heck, I don't know)  
> I hope the fic is not that boring so far. I will make it more interesting as it progresses, I promise! Also, this will be a longer chapter than the first was, and I will try to keep it that way. Some minor characters from the show make an appearance here too. ;)

It was 3 AM, and he was staring down at the bottom of his glass. His cell phone lay next to him on the table, but this time, he didn’t feel like looking at it. He was sure that the police are already searching the penthouse above the nightclub, and thanks to his precious little ball of explosive dirt, will find nothing. He should feel happy, or at least satisfied. Yet he felt empty. Not even angry anymore, that was gone with the adrenalin rush. He looked around. Holy Ground was full, even on this ungodly hour. Most of the Rangers were there, drinking, gambling or looking for the services of one of the girls working here. Simcoe decided that he needs none of those at the moment. He stood up, shoved his phone in his pocket, and walked outside the bar, to the parking motorcycles. His battered, old bike was waiting patiently until he unlocked its fingerprint lock, and sat on its saddle.

“Going somewhere?” He heard a woman’s voice. He looked up, and saw his favourite companion-for-hire Lola, leaning against the wall and smoking.

“Away.” he answered briefly. Yet, he still didn’t start the engine. Lola pushed herself away from the wall, and walked next to Simcoe. “You know; my shift is almost over. I could use a lift.”

He stared at her with his usual poker face. “And what made you think that I’m willing to take you anywhere?”

Lola smiled at him.

“Because I know you. You’re a nice guy, John. I mean, deep under that crap you call your personality.”

Simcoe couldn’t help but let out a small smile. If it were anyone else, he’d probably hit them in the face and ran them over, but with Lola, it was different. She saw through his mask with an accuracy that scared him sometimes.

“Right. Just don’t tell anyone, they might laugh at you.” He replied and added “Are you coming then, or just want to shoot the breeze until the sun comes up?”

She sat behind him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. He started the engine, and they darted off to the night.

Lola’s place was fairly close to the bar, only a few minutes by bike. He felt the cold wind on his face, and for a short while, he felt happy. He was free, whatever that meant. Lola leaned against his back, and rested her head on his shoulder blade. He was tempted to drive away, to somewhere else with her, but he stopped at the building.

“We’re here.” he told her, and she got off from the bike. He turned to go away, when he heard her asking “Why don’t you come in?” He wanted to say something about not feeling like it, something about being tired, but he caught himself parking the bike and walking over to her. They silently went to Lola’s apartment on the 3rd floor. As the door closed behind them, Simcoe once again wondered what was he doing there at all. He and Lola sometimes slept together, but that was business. He paid for it. This was something else, and he was unsure of what to do with it.

She leaned closer, placed her hand on his chest, and looked up into his eyes. “You look like you’re lost.” she stated. He stared at her with an expressionless face. “Maybe I am.”

That last sentence hung over them in the air for a while, before Lola spoke again.

“Do you trust me?” Simcoe swallowed, and answered. “I barely even know you.”

She reached out and held his face in her hands.

“This is not the first time you’re with me. You know I won’t do anything that you don’t want.”

“It is the first time when I’m with you outside of your work. So what do you really want?”

Before she could answer, a loud “Ding!” came from Simcoe’s pocket, followed by a buzz. Lola backed away. The magic was gone.

“You have to go?” she asked, as he fished out his phone from the depths of his pocket, and was turning it on, to see who is harassing him before dawn. His already big eyes grew even wider, when he saw the notification for an e-mail, that just arrived in his inbox. It was from somebody he hasn’t seen for more than ten years. He raised his brows in surprise.

“Lola…” he spoke, and the woman turned back to him from the bathroom door she was heading to. “Hmm?” Simcoe lowered his cell phone, and asked “Can I use your laptop?”

 

Somewhere else, another lone man on a motorcycle was riding on the highway. Caleb was worried about Ben, the investigation, and was furious because they have lost a good man to the Rangers. The outlaw gang terrorized his hometown and all of Long Island ever since the war ended. Some would say it began long before the war itself. Whatever the truth was, the Rangers were a thorn in the side of decent citizens and the law-enforcement for years. Caleb had personal bad experiences with the gang, and their notorious leader. He dismissed the disturbing thought of the rusty haired biker, who casually shot his uncle to death. He was heading home, to rest a little before the next shift begins. A small, dark and empty flat was waiting for him, and some beer in the fridge, Caleb substituted dinner with. He fell asleep on his couch, and was waking up to the ear piercing sound of his alarm clock. Caleb muttered an especially nasty curse as he threw the wailing clock to the other side of the room, and got up.

 Ben was already at work when Caleb got there. The whole forensic team gathered in one briefing room, and were analysing yesterday’s findings. “The message is obvious; it is meant for us.” Ben stated, as his friend crossed the room and sat down in the second row of chairs. The major continued. “Mr. Sackett managed to find traces of a fingerprint on the poker, which was used to impale the victim’s tongue, but so far, it is insufficient for using as evidence. We are currently waiting for the graphology team’s report.”

One arm was raised, and Caleb permitted himself a smile. Another one of his friends joined the game. The slender, graceful arm belonged to no other than Anna Strong, renown forensic profiler, and childhood friend of both Ben and Caleb.

“But you do have a suspect, don’t you?” she asked, and Ben nodded. There was a projector behind him, showing pictures and data about the investigation. It went black for a moment, then the face of a fairly handsome, young man with auburn hair and big, but eerily emotionless blue eyes appeared on it. Caleb shuddered in disgust.

“As a matter of fact, we do.” Ben stated. “John Graves Simcoe, 30 years old, has a military past, and multiple charges against him for assault, harassing and extortion.”

“And just conveniently happens to be the leader of the Queen’s Rangers’ Long Island chapter.” Caleb added. “And his list of shenanigans also contains murder and drug trafficking.”

“Why don’t we bring him in?” Anna asked. “We don’t have any solid evidence against him to make an arrest, and keep him behind bars for more than 24 hours.” Caleb answered. “Believe me Annie, if I had one drop of anything I can haul his sorry ass in a cell for, I would not hesitate.”

“But you say he has multiple charges against him. How come you still can’t bring him in?”

Ben sighed. “Many of those charges were dropped. We caught him, got him behind bars for a day, and had to let him go. Someone must have been protecting him.”

Anna was surprised. “Who would do such a thing?” Caleb looked at her, then over to Ben. “That’s what we would want to know as well.” He said. Anna was processing the information, with her eyes focusing on her notebook, while Ben turned back to the rest of the investigation team. “We lost our contact with the mole among the Rangers’ rank. We might need a replacement, if and when it is possible.”

 

Morning came and found him staring at the e-mail he got a few hours earlier. Lola was still asleep when he left, this time – he thought – never to return to her. He got a bit upset about that letter, and she tried to calm him down. It worked for a while. Alcohol and sex always worked. But yet again, he was staring at his cell phone, and re-reading those lines a hundredth time.

_“Dear John_

_It was a long time ago since we haven’t heard from you. Uncle Samuel and aunt Margaret* were afraid that you have been died in a battle somewhere, but then we received the news that you are alive, and moved to America. I wondered what happened, why didn’t you write a word, or left all of our mails unanswered. I hope you read this one at least. This is the last letter I write from our mutual relatives’ home. I am, like you, moving to the US. I can’t tell you why exactly, but I don’t want anyone, who would do me harm, to hurt my aunt or uncle, or anyone of my friends. Is this why you went so far away from us? You too have been watched and hunted by someone or something you couldn’t talk about? I have nobody over the ocean that I know. Other than you, of course. I hope my travels will be safe, and when I get there, I can find you somehow. I really, really need to talk with you. Until then, take care._

_Love:_

_Elizabeth.”_

Simcoe turned off the screen of his cell phone, and shoved it back to his pocket. His thoughts however, couldn’t let go of the e-mail and the possible threat it was hinting at. He barely remembered Elizabeth, the niece of his godfather and godmother, but the desperate tone of the letter unsettled him. He sat on his bike, and kick-started the engine. He needed time and the cold morning wind to clear his head.

 

“DeJong is late with the protection money.” his second-in-command, Akinbode told him as greeting, when Simcoe entered their usual hideout. He stared at the other man for a second, blinked, then asked “Do I look like I care?” he collapsed into one of the unused chairs, and hid his face in his palms.

“Had a rough night?” Akinbode asked, while sitting next to him. Simcoe glanced at him, and smirked.“You know I like it rough.”

the other man shuddered. “Spare me from the details, John.” They were silent for a while, except for Simcoe’s index finger tapping on his knee. “You know; we should do something.” Akinbode said, breaking the silence. “Go over, tell the man it doesn’t work that way, maybe break a few bones.” Simcoe shook his head. “Forget DeJong. You’ll have another task.” Akinbode raised his brow. “Wait, you say you don’t want to ride over to Setauket and raze the old man’s shop for not paying you? I changed my mind, please do tell what happened to you last night!” “Let’s just say that we are less in need of that protection money than we are in need of information.” Simcoe replied. “There was a mole among us. Worked for the police. I dispatched him yesterday, but I don’t know if he was working alone, or had others, who helped him.”

Akinbode nodded. “And what do you want me to do?”

“Do a little search. On every single member of the Rangers, from the lowest rank, up until the veterans. Hell, even on me. I want to know if I can trust any of my men.” Simcoe ordered. Akinbode stood up, and started walking, but his boss’ trilling voice stopped him. “And while you’re at it…” Simcoe was scribbling something to a piece of paper, and went over to Akinbode, and handed him the note, saying “Would you be so kind, and find me this lady? Her address, specifically.”

The second-in-command looked down on the note. It was a name: Elizabeth Gwillim.

After his friend left, Simcoe sat back to the chair he occupied just a few moments ago. His head was hurting, and he felt exhausted. He thought he might just shut his eyes for a while before attending to his other, more important odds and ends. He leaned over and put his arms on the table, resting his head on them. He almost instantly fell asleep. And the ghosts of his past came once again, to haunt him…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for now. Comments, heart-thingies, and suggestions are welcome and appreciated, but I'm not forcing anyone. :)   
>  *Admiral Samuel Graves and his wife Margaret, were the godparents of the real John Graves Simcoe. Miss Elizabeth was their foster child, Margaret's orphaned niece. I included them in the story for the sake of making things a bit more...realistic? Human? I don't really know the proper word here, but it seemed right.
> 
> Up next: A little backstory on how the Rangers came to be. And what was going on between Simcoe and Hewlett? In WWIII?!


	3. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to World War 3, and the "Calamitous Captivity of John Graves Simcoe". Also a little information about how the Rangers became the "scourge of Long Island". Long-ass chapter warning though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... How to put it... I wish there will never be a WWIII. Really. Everything in this chapter regarding war and politics are fictitious, any resemblance to actual people and events are not entirely coincidental, but still. Also, there will be a fair amount of bloodshed in the chapter (Johnny Graves being the bloodthirsty monster he is, it was inevitable), so if you're squeamish, I suggest that you just skip this one.  
> Major Oyster makes his first appearance too, and many other characters, main or minor. :)

It all started in 2016. With the rising political influence of right-wing extremists, terrorist attacks, and over all tension around the globe. It was just a matter of time before the third World War broke out. Nobody was safe, the conflict reached every country on every continent. By the end of 2018, the whole world was in flames. And he was in the middle of it. From distant Middle-Eastern countries, to remote islands on the ocean, and after a little dispute with one of his superiors, he found himself in a Long Island garrison. Under the command of a certain Major Edmund Hewlett. It was hate at first sight. The major lectured him about law, order, authority, and domestic conflicts he paid little to no mind at all. He was enraged, at the idle and extremely boring and tedious garrison, the daily routine, the superior who sent him here, and generally everything and everyone. A wrong look was enough to earn his resentment. And the townspeople in Setauket gave him the eye a lot. However, everyone seemed to like major Hewlett.

The good major took his position as the commander of the garrison guarding the little town very seriously. He was posted there a few years ago, when the first internal conflicts between American states broke out. Many new countries inside the country were formed; only to be defeated by their neighbours the next day. England offered help, honouring the alliance they formed with their former colony, just like they had in the previous world-wide conflict, a century ago. This is how he, and Simcoe and all their fellow English soldiers got here. As opposite to a leader with an iron hand, major Hewlett believed in negotiation and give-and-take. He was a scientist, before he enlisted, leaving his studies behind for the sake of helping a bankrupt father and an allied country in need. In short, he was everything Simcoe despised and Simcoe was everything Hewlett hated. This brewed into a lot of unpleasant situations.

“I have to find a way to get rid of him.” the major told one of his aides. “He’s a loose cannon, a… a wild animal, it’s just a matter of time before he bites the hand that feeds him. He is harassing the people, and I can’t let him get away with it any further.”

The “harassing”, Hewlett spoke about occurred just a few days before his desperate confession to his aide. Simcoe got in a tavern brawl with some of the residents, and injured someone badly, while threatening another with his gun. He said he was protecting captain Joyce, but Hewlett highly doubt it. He sent the captain to court martial, only to find his dead body in a ditch a day later. What made the whole story more suspicious, was that Simcoe got Joyce’s rank, while the latter’s remains were still warm. However, there was no evidence Hewlett could use to back up his ever growing bad feelings about captain Simcoe. And with MP all over the garrison, and an ongoing investigation of poor captain Joyce’s death, he could only hope that someone will eventually find something.

 

As for Simcoe, he couldn’t care less about Joyce, or the one who put him a ditch. Frankly, he couldn’t care less about his promotion either. Sure, it had some advantages, and a sense of power over simple privates or new recruits, but he would bully them without it anyway. Just for the fun of it. He couldn’t go around town without one or two of Hewlett’s goons on his tail anymore, so he decided to find another way to let out steam. The newbies hated him sooo much. He never missed an opportunity to give them a reason though. He wasn’t surprised at all, when he finally got an order to go to New Jersey. Hewlett sent him to destroy a few enemy ships and supplies, and free a few captive soldiers. He was happy to leave Setauket and the dull garrison behind. He travelled by motorcycle ever since he had a chance. He gathered his men, and went to fulfil the order, just to walk into an ambush. A booby-trap blew up under his bike, and the explosion threw him several feet away along with his vehicle, which landed on his right leg, breaking it to pieces. Many of his men were killed, others fled, as the rebel state soldiers clearly outnumbered them. The last thing Simcoe saw before passing out from the shock was a mob of people gathering around him.

 

He woke up to a throbbing pain in his leg, and feeling of cold concrete under his back. An unknown man was crouching next to him, and seemed like he was tending his wounds. His head was spinning, and he was afraid that he will throw up, but fortunately it didn’t happen. “Stay put!” he heard the man say, and he could barely keep himself from screaming when his broken bones were put back in place and bandaged. He did what worked best in that situation: passed out again.

He came to his senses not long after that, and felt just a little better. His leg still hurt like hell, and his head was also acting up. Simcoe thought he might have a concussion from the explosion and the fall. His helmet protected him from breaking his skull, but it seemed it meant no protection from the hit itself. He tried to sit up, and was attacked by nausea, but he managed to do it. He finally had a chance to look around. He was in a cell, and he wasn’t the only one. Fellow allied officers and soldiers were in the cells next to and opposite to his. One man was chained to the floor. Some others had serious injuries, even worse than his own. Seeing this, a disturbing thought started to creep into Simcoe’s mind. Who captured him, and what do they want?

He soon found out that Rebel States army had him as their POW. Or more likely, New Jersey itself. They declared total independence from both the Rebel and Allied states, under their governor, William Livingston. Mr. Livingston was known for his hatred towards the Alliance, and saw a chance at revenge for two of his men, who were captured and killed by Allied soldiers, not long before Simcoe and his crew so carelessly walked into his trap. On that day he also lost his own captain, and the comrades and relatives of said deceased officer were pretty keen on the idea of giving Simcoe a little rough treatment. The governor wanted to know if he has any useful information first. He sent two of his soldiers, privates Hull and McGill, to find out anything. By any means necessary. But they weren’t prepared for what they saw in the prisoner’s quarters.

Everyone was trying to get as far away as possible, from the maniac that was sitting and wailing in the back cell. Hull went closer, and backed off when the man behind the bars tried to grab his leg. “Give me back my leg!” he shouted. “You took it away, give it back!” Hull looked at McGill with a shocked expression. Simcoe went back to screeching and sometimes singing an old prayer. Hull slowly backed away, while his partner took a look for himself. The man on the floor was sitting like a lost child, rocking and muttering incoherently, then he looked up, right into private McGill’s eyes, and started to beg him “The noise! It’s unbearable! Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!” he screamed, tearing at his skull, and the two Rebel soldiers were afraid that he might claw his own eyes out, so they quickly left to inform their commander of captain Simcoe’s mental condition.

“He’s bonkers, sir.” Hull said dryly. “Batshit crazy, if you forgive my language.”

Livingston looked at his soldiers, and ordered them to interrogate the other prisoners instead.

Simcoe sighed with relief when the two Rebels left. He wasn’t sure that his trick will work, but he had literally nothing to lose, so he gave it a chance. It was crazy enough to work it seemed. Days went by, and he displayed all symptoms of lunacy, sometimes fused with incoherent curses and songs he remembered from his childhood, or just heard somewhere. He tried to get word out of the prisoner’s camp, but it took a considerable amount of time. His fellow POWs vanished from one day to the other, and he was seriously concerned for his life. He wrote countless letters, but received no answers. Or assumed that they were intercepted by his captors. That didn’t make him give up his plan though. Almost a month passed by, until he finally got word that he will be exchanged with the Allied army for a few Rebels. He wasn’t transported back to Setauket, which surprised him. Instead, he met with the man behind his release, a certain Major André.

 “You’re here, because I’m in need of a madman.” Major John André stated without even looking at Simcoe. “I heard that you have…troubles with your superior.” Simcoe raised his brow and added “With respect sir, I don’t know what…” André interrupted him with a nasty look and said “Please captain, everyone knows about your feud with major Hewlett. What I’m offering you is a chance to get out from under his thumb.” Simcoe tilted his head. “I’m listening.” André handed over a PDA to him. “You are about to join the Queen’s American Rangers, a unit with its history dating back to the 18th century. You will serve as second-in-command, under another madman by the name of Robert Rogers.” Simcoe looked at the PDA, and added “It will be an honour.” his sarcastic tone didn’t elude André’s ears. “You will replace him eventually.” he stated. He was looking out of the window of his office for a while before speaking again “You lost your vehicle, correct?” Simcoe raised his head. “Yes, sir.” “Then you shall get a new one.” he was writing something on a paper, signed it, then handed it over to Simcoe. “Show this to the quartermaster, and you’ll get the new motorcycle. You shall join your new unit ASAP. Dismissed.” Simcoe saluted, and left without a word. He still could barely walk on his broken leg, but it healed nicely. Not long after he got his new bike and his orders, he went to join the Rangers… The same wretched lot that became his new family.

 

It was hard at first. They hated him. Disrespected him. But he knew how to deal with that. After he shot one of his own men, they feared him. Eventually, that led to a crack inside the unit’s ranks. Part of the Rangers followed Rogers, but part of them wanted to stay under his command. Simcoe didn’t forget André’s casual “You will replace him eventually”, he threw into his face. He decided to make it his new goal. The war’s end interrupted his plans.

At first, he was unable to get accustomed to his new, idle life of a civilian. He tried to, Heaven knows, he tried. One shitty job after the other… They said he has anger management problems. That he is a borderline sociopath no one wants to have anything to do with. He met Falkoff one day, and they were talking a bit. They still had their bikes, and their determination. They could get some weapons too. They still had some connections. Odell said Rogers would want them back. They could be the worst of all the uprising criminal gangs, one of the one percenters. They had the brawn and the brain…

 …So the Rangers were back together again. But this time, they turned on the people they served in the war. Simcoe vaguely remembered one of their first raid. It was on his beloved-hated Setauket. On a cold autumn morning. At first, no one was alarmed at the sight of the bikers in Ranger uniform, wielding shotguns and hatchets. Rogers didn’t want unnecessary bloodshed. Simcoe remembered that he disobeyed. He shot first. It was some bystander he forgot long ago. The Rangers went on a killing spree after that. They took everything they needed, and torched what they didn’t. Some townspeople fought back though. Like that old man, the judge, and the town’s reverend. They managed to shoot two of the Rangers under Simcoe’s command. The shooting alerted the Sheriff’s office too, so the bikers soon found themselves outnumbered by the townsfolk. They scattered around the houses, used people as meat shields, and fought until caught or got killed.

Simcoe grabbed the reverend, and used him as a hostage, as he invaded the house on the corner. Turned out it was the Sheriff’s office. He saw a familiar face behind the hastily thrown barricade. “Throw down your weapon!” he heard the familiar voice, and couldn’t help, but smile. “Oh, Major Oyster! Couldn’t get enough of the backwater, could you?” Hewlett emerged from behind the barricade, with a shotgun in hand. “And you couldn’t get enough of the blood, could you?” he replied. Simcoe tilted his head, with his trademark half-smile on his face. “You know what, Oyster? Drop that 12gauge, and I might not blow the good reverend’s head off.” Hewlett didn’t lower his shotgun while speaking “You are outnumbered. Stop this nonsense, Captain! You will be put on a fair trial, and probably get only a few years for theft and destruction of property. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”   

Meanwhile Hewlett tried to talk some sense into Simcoe, a young man in a brown leather jacket and a grey beanie, was sneaking towards the exit. He didn’t make it though. “Ah-ah-ah, you’re not going anywhere!” Simcoe said, pointing his gun at the young man now. “Are there more of you guys hiding behind that desk? Come out, where I can see you!” Hewlett wanted to object, but two constables and the judge were popping up, and stood next to each other.

“Well, well. What to do with you?” Simcoe trilled, as he shoved reverend Tallmadge to the window. “How about don’t make a fuss, and you might live to see another day?” The judge and his son exchanged a look, and the older Woodhull approached their assailant. “You don’t have to do this, captain Simcoe.”

He gave the judge a condescending look, and hissed “Sit down, before you fall down!” the younger Woodhull made a successful escape, and darted into the street. Simcoe was furious, but knew he couldn’t track Abraham, unless he leaves his hostages to their own. Either way, someone would come and end him. He could have his revenge though. He didn’t remember what he said, or what judge Woodhull has said, but he remembered putting a bullet into the old man. Hewlett used his chance as well, and hit him with the –as he realized by now – empty shotgun’s barrel. He was down a minute later, and heard major Oyster, as he urged the two constables to grab him and take him to the cell in the back room. Simcoe didn’t want to go to a cell again. He managed to get away from the two officers, and get a new hostage. A brittle old man, probably stricken with Parkinson’s disease. He barely remembered what happened next. It was so fast, and he had so many things to keep in mind, that he forgot why he shot the old man in the head, and shouted. The memory was blurred, but he remembered riding away on a bike, with half of the Sheriff’s office at his tail. He never felt more alive than in that moment. Some unfortunate fellow got dragged along his bike for a short while, he forgot that one too, but he remembered the bright red trail of blood he left wherever he went that day. He nearly escaped prison, he had five of his friends killed, and he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about it.

 

Only a few months passed after the raid on Setauket, when the two part of the gang finally clashed. “This ghost would have you all killed.” Rogers told the Rangers siding with Simcoe. “I would die for you; you know that? I would die for you!” Simcoe fixed his eyes on the former leader of the Rangers, and spoke “You are free to go with major Rogers, if you choose to. No need for melodrama.” Not a single soul moved. The members of the gang were looking at them, waiting for the two figureheads to order them to attack. No order came, but Simcoe’s sharp, high voice cut through the tense silence again. “Tell you what: If major Rogers manages to kill me, you will let him go unharmed. Or join him even.” he threw away his .45, and drew the other one of his favourite weapons. A knife with a serrated blade. Rogers also threw down his gun, and drew a knife. “I’ll carve you up, Ginger!” They were at each other’s throat. The eerie silence was only broken by their grunts and cries. Rogers got tired much quickly. Simcoe didn’t even sweat. “You’re old, fat, and slow!” he taunted the older and considerably rounder man. “I’ll run circles around you, before you even move a hand!” He was wrong though. Rogers knocked him over, and he barely managed to get on top. He pressed his blade against the other’s face, managing to deeply cut Rogers. That may will cost him his eye. Simcoe backed away, while Rogers stood up, one hand over his bleeding face. “That’s it, old man!” Simcoe said “End of the game. You’re the past, I’m the future!” Rogers chuckled. “I don’t think so, sonny…” And he threw the grenade, he has armed from his hand. Simcoe dragged one of the Rangers in front of him, before the explosion, but still he was tossed back to the wall. His ears ringed… Or rather one of them ringed, the other one was torn in half. His thumb on his left hand also was in a weird angle, and he just started to feel the pain of it, as the adrenalin faded. He stood up, ignoring the pain, the dust, the screams. He was the winner. Rogers was nowhere to be found. From that night, John Graves Simcoe was the only leader of the Rangers. They became the scourge of Long Island, and many other nearby states.

 

A hard nudge into his ribs woke him up from his sleep. “Good morning, Sunshine!” Akinbode said, shoving a piece of paper into Simcoe’s face. “Found your gal. You did anything else besides drooling on your sleeve?” John stood up, and put the paper into his pocket. “I shall see to my odds and ends then. How long did I sleep?” Akinbode looked at his watch. “Half a day. And you still look like shit.” Simcoe ran his fingers through his matted, rusty hair. He went to the restroom, to wash his face and get himself together. He stared at his reflection for a moment, and caught himself doing what he did as a defence mechanism since his little brawl with Rogers. He combed his hair over his injured ear. What will Elizabeth think if she’ll see the tattered remains of his left ear? She will probably be grossed out. John was sure about it. He was in fact grossed out by his ear once. He sighed, and left the hideout to meet the girl he left in a different world, in a different time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contextual notes:  
> \- WWIII began with Trump’s administration (= read idiocy), raged between 2018 and 2021. England and the official US government were allies, rebel states started domestic conflict. Alliance was forged after the same image of the alliance in WWI. (where the US was neutral until 1917-18 when; after losing a ship to a German torpedo, they joined the conflict.) In 2022, the USA is torn between Northern and Southern states, just like it was in the civil war of 1865, though this time, the Northern and Southern states are not at war with each other, but consider themselves a whole new country.  
> \- PDA is short for "Personal Digital Assistant", a sort of minicomputer...an ancestor of the tablet maybe.  
> \- For the sake of upcoming chapters and drama, the Rangers here remained under Robert Rogers' command until the war ended, and the biker gang was formed, shortly before their split into two different "chapters", one led by Rogers, the other led by Simcoe. (And of course their inevitable clash resulting in a loss of one eye to the former, one ear to the latter.)  
> \- I have no knowledge of motorcycles being used in the US or UK military, but I do know that they were used in WW2. Mostly by scouts or couriers. In fic-verse, the bike substitutes Simcoe’s horse.  
> \- The events portrayed during Simcoe's captivitiy has some grain of truth, as he really pretended to be insane when he got caught by rebels, and was writing letters even to gen. Washington himself. (Read the story here: https://spycurious.wordpress.com/2014/04/27/the-calamitous-captivity-of-john-graves-simcoe/)
> 
> Up next: John meets Elizabeth again, Caleb reflects on the bloody raid of the Rangers, and Ben ties up his fancy tight pants, and pushes for a warrant. Also a bit of Abe will probably be popping up. Stay tuned! <3


	4. Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simcoe meets Elizabeth again, after 12 or so years. Reminscing and embarrasment happens. Meanwhile, Ben and Caleb visits Abe.   
> Fluff-heavy chapter is fluffy. Also, lyrics and mentions of ancient music and drunkenness!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss Elizabeth is a painter here, and as much as I wanted to reveal her secret nemesis, you have to wait a bit -no, much - longer, until they will come to light. I also hope that her personality reflects what I wanted to describe her as, and not like an annoying anime-girl. -_-;; She is, for sure, still in love with our favourite Ranger.
> 
> And talking about Rangers... This is how their patch looks like (plus a little Johnny Graves on the left): https://sta.sh/02d3nsmp406f

_“All I really want is something beautiful to say…”_

 

Different world and different time was an understatement. Simcoe was looking at Elizabeth from a distance, and barely recognized her as the lithe, pretty girl with truffle hair and hazel eyes. She was still pretty of course, but the past 12 or so years made a woman out of the frail girl, who stole his heart. She was painting in her front yard, probably tried to sketch her neighbour’s house, and the odd looking tree behind it. Elizabeth was so immersed in her work, that she didn’t notice Simcoe approaching her, so she almost jumped out of her shoes when he tapped her shoulder. “Hello, Lizzy!” She turned around with a furious spark in her eyes, but it immediately disappeared under her wide smile. “John!” Simcoe almost fell over as she literally jumped to his neck. He held her close for a moment, before putting her down. “Oh my gosh, you have changed!” she exclaimed. He smiled. “You grew your hair? Last time I saw you it was this short.” she showed the length with closing her index finger and her thumb. “Anyway, it looks good on you.” she stroked his hair, and then she saw his ear. Simcoe’s face clouded up. He backed away, and turned around, showing his unscarred side instead. Elizabeth’s cheerful tone was gone, replaced by concern. “What happened to your ear? Who did this to you?” “You really want me to start talking about my battle scars, after meeting again for the first time in twelve years, Lizzy?” Simcoe asked with a little slip in his voice. She hugged him again, and told him in a soothing tone “Of course not. But you know you can talk about it if you feel like.” Which made Simcoe remember a certain line from Elizabeth’s e-mail. “You wanted to talk with me about someone…” he started, but she put her finger on his mouth. “Not here.” He nodded, and she held his face in her hand. He felt a strange, foreign sensation growing inside. It wasn’t desire, or rather it was, only partly. Looking into her eyes, which radiated so much warmth was unusual for him. Unusual and calming. He wanted to say so many things to her, but the words eluded him this time. “It’s been a while.” he managed to utter after a few moments. She let him go, and started to chuckle. “What?” he asked, then touched his face on the same spot Elizabeth’s hand was just a minute ago. His fingers were of a deep, blueish-green hue. “Thanks for the war-paint, madam.” he laughed. “I’m sorry.” she laughed too. It felt like they were in a different world, and a different time.

 

Far away from the reunited couple, in a cemetery, Caleb was looking at a gravestone. He placed a flower on the grave, sighed, and walked over to Ben. His old friend was talking to the ghost of his brother, like he always did when he was visiting the cemetery in Setauket. Caleb stopped a few feet away, not wanting to interrupt Ben’s ritual. In fact, he wished that he could believe in the afterlife, or God, or any of the things Ben believed in. At least, he thought that his brother Sam, is in a better place. For Caleb and his uncle, it was just oblivion. Ben talked about the Rangers, and the investigation, in a manner that made Caleb think, that he is talking to himself just as much as he is talking to some non-existent ectoplasmic remnant of his late brother. Ben was organizing his thoughts. Sam was just an excuse for him to do that. Caleb turned away. He always felt deeply sorry for his friend’s loss. Ben and Sam were very close. Another sad casualty of the war. Bad communication made it even worse. The letter they received, stated that Selah Strong was the one who died, so Ben’s family was waiting for both of their sons to return from the war. Anna grieved, and sought solace in another man’s arms. Then Ben came home, and told the bad news: Sam died. He was in Selah’s unit, when they were attacked. Selah was with him until the end. But he never came home either. Ben stopped talking, and Caleb looked at him, chasing away the ghosts of the past. “Are you sure about this?” he asked Ben. “We don’t have any other choice.” Ben replied” We need a contact, and we need to talk with our mole. The Rangers must be stopped, and he’s our best chance.” Caleb shook his head. “I dunno Benny. What if he doesn’t want to get involved? After all, his father got injured in that raid too.” Ben didn’t answer, just walked past Caleb, who followed. A black car parked outside of the cemetery. “We have to convince him to join our cause.” Ben spoke, when Caleb closed the car’s door behind him. “All right. We’ll try. But keep in mind, that Abe might just want to stay the hell out of everything after the war.” Ben nodded, and turned the keys. The black car slowly disappeared in the fog.

 

Her laughter sounded like music. He could listen to it all day, or write a sonnet about it. Elizabeth chirped about her life back in England, about aunt Margaret, her cats, and uncle Samuel’s allergies, and the trees and the birds and the bees… Even showed some photos she made with her phone. There was a picture of a grumpy looking ginger cat, perching menacingly on top of Elizabeth’s wardrobe. “Oh, this is my kitty, Johnny.” Elizabeth smirked, and looked at Simcoe. “I named him after you.” He looked at her with his unimpressed poker face. She chuckled. “You two share a lot of similarities, you know?” “I highly doubt it” he added. Elizabeth put her phone down, and went out to the kitchen, to make tea. “Oh, but it’s true. He’s the toughest cat in the whole district, has a cute voice, and he usually comes to sing under my window on spring nights.” Simcoe almost dropped the book he was picking up while Elizabeth was speaking. “Come on Lizzy, I did it only once, and I was very, very drunk…” _“And very much in love”_ he thought, but didn’t add. She smiled at him. “That was the cutest serenade I ever got… Actually the only one. And I still remember that you sang “I want to know what love is” pretty well, despite being drunk out of your mind.”  Now that she mentioned, he remembered too. He shuddered. “I’d rather not talk about it. I was only 18.” Elizabeth looked out the window, and then back at him. “You left me that summer, John. You finished school, and enlisted, then left.” she didn’t carry an accusatory tone, she was merely stating a fact. He did leave her that summer. Probably broke her heart too. For some reason, Simcoe felt bad because of this. Would it be anyone else, he’d probably just shrug, or politely blink at them, and wouldn’t give a fuck. “I’m sorry.” he heard himself say. “It must have been hard for you.” she shook her head. “At first, I was mad at you. Then I understood, why you did it. You didn’t want to burden uncle Samuel and aunt Margaret even more.” “Heh. Nonsense.” he said, but he started to feel like he’s in some kind of counselling. It wasn’t pleasant, so he started to detour the conversation. “Now that we are alone, would you tell me, what’s wrong? You wrote that someone or something is after you. What happened?” Elizabeth sat next to him, and lowered her head. “I think I overheard something I was not supposed to hear. People were following me, questioning the neighbours, my aunt, my uncle… I thought it’s the best if I leave. And you were the only one I knew I could count on. I moved here, to find you.” Simcoe sighed, and patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Congratulations, mission accomplished! Now, tell me love, what was that “something” you overheard?”

Later that afternoon, the Rangers gathered in Holy Ground, to discuss their problems with some other gangs. The Pirates and the Outlaws, two rival gangs were invading Ranger territory, and the gang members wanted to act quickly. Simcoe however, was unusually absent-minded. “What the hell’s wrong with you, man?” Akinbode asked when they went out for a short break. “You’re not even here.” “I have other things to worry about.” Simcoe answered. “Get rid of the Outlaws, and try to negotiate with the leaders of the Pirates. If it doesn’t work, put a bullet through their heads. Anyway, they could be glad that I’m even willing to negotiate with them.”

Akinbode nodded. “And what will you do?” Simcoe looked at him with his best fake-innocent expression. “Why of course, I’ll be drawing the police’s attention to someone else than us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh... That's all folks! For now at least. I hope again that I didn't screw up the characters (A few slips with Johnny dear for the sake of humor and fluff was intentional, and hopefully forgivable), and that I can post at least two more chapters until the 1st of September. That will be a busy month for me, so I'm afraid I will have to put this project on hold. We'll see. Comments, kudos, suggestions are appreciated, but not necessary. :)  
> Bye!
> 
> Up next: Meet the Woodhulls. Caleb visits, and asks a favour. Ben gets the arrest warrant, and puts Simcoe behind bars. Anna makes a profile, because that’s her job here. Also police brutality! And Three-letter-organizations! D:


	5. Rust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Caleb stops by Whitehall, and asks Abe to help them in their investigation. Hewlett has some information. Shootout between the Pirates, the Outlaws and the Rangers. Nuts! Ben gets the arrest warrant thanks to Hamilton, and puts Simcoe behind bars. Anna makes a profile, because that’s her job here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Curse-words, concrete-slides*, over-all violent stuff (Simcoe being...well, himself, and getting his arse whooped by Caleb), and implications of various mental illnessess will occur. Proceed with caution! (And don't blame me for the nightmares, I warned you.)  
> Also, this is another long-ass chapter, and contains traces of Annalett. (I will get back to John and Lizzy soon, I promise. ;D )
> 
> * "concrete-sliding" or "asphalt-sliding" is a slang referring to tying someone after a motorcycle, and being dragged behind on the road. It is quite deadly. And messy, and ugly... Eww.

Whitehall was full of people. All the time. Either townsfolk with petty cases to ask for the judge’s advice, or the elder Woodhull’s friends. Abraham wanted none of those. He watched as his wife, Mary makes the table, as his father is talking with his bestie, Dr. Hewlett, and he wanted to run away. The two were talking about the possibilities of space-travel and habitable planets in nearby solar systems. Abe turned away, and asked Mary if she needed help. “Aberdeen and I have it under control.” she answered. “Go, and look after Thomas, if you are so willing to help with something. Dinner will be ready soon.” So, Abraham wandered out to the garden in search for his toddler son. He found him under a tree, playing with some toy soldiers. “There you are, Sprout!” he picked the child up, ready to bring him back to the house, when he heard a car approaching. A black sedan parked in their front yard not long after. Abe had a bad feeling, but then it disappeared when his two childhood friends got out from the vehicle. “Sorry for barging in.” Ben apologized, but his voice was suppressed by his colleague’s. “Look at you, farmer boy! Come ‘ere!” Caleb greeted his old friend with a pat on the back, that almost made Abe fall over. “You remember uncle Caleb, Thomas?” he asked his son after regaining his balance. The little boy waved at Caleb. “Come in, we were about to have dinner. I’ll ask Mary to prepare for two more.” Ben almost started to object, but then he just nodded. “Thank you.”

 

After a few minutes of introductions and small talk, everyone was sitting around the table, praising the treats Mary made. “Aberdeen helped me, so she is just as deserving of praise than I am.” she said. The dinner itself went surprisingly in a good mood, but after Mary went to put Thomas to bed, Richard asked Ben “So, why are you two here? I doubt that you were just cruising around and stopped by to say hello.” “We would want to ask your son a favour.” Caleb answered in Ben’s stead. “There is an ongoing investigation we cannot yet talk about, but it involves the Rangers.”

Hewlett chose this moment to step in, and accidentally overheard the last sentence. All the other men looked at him, so he stuttered for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I am sorry, I didn’t want to eavesdrop on you, but I heard a certain criminal gang’s name.” Ben raised his brow. “You happen to know something about the Rangers, Dr. Hewlett?” The older man looked nervous. “Well… I know their leader personally.” “My condolences” Caleb inserted, but Ben glanced at him with disapproval. “Could you come in to our headquarters and give us a testimony?” he asked Hewlett, who was contemplating for a while. “I, ah… I suppose I could.” “Thank you, it will greatly help our investigation.”

Abe listened to his friends and decided to insert his own question. “What’s the favour you want to ask me, anyway?” Caleb shook his head. “It’s sort of confidential.” “Should I go with Mr. Hewlett to your HQ then?” Abe asked. “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea.” Ben objected. “It’d be better if we could have a word in private.” Hewlett and Woodhull senior left the room, leaving Abe with his friends. “So?” he asked. Caleb looked at Ben, then at Abe before speaking. “We need an eye among the Rangers. Our man got compromised.” Abe shook his head. “No. I’m done with these undercover missions. I did what I could to help you with the Sons of Liberty case, and I ended up in jail.” Ben remembered hearing about Abraham’s failed mission, but he wasn’t directly in charge then. “We need your help, Abe.” “And I told you I won’t do it. I have a family. What about them?”

Caleb and Ben glanced at each other. “So you want to let Simcoe get away with putting a bullet to your dad and all the shite he’s doing to this town and the whole region?” Caleb asked. Abe shook his head. “No, but I need your word to protect my family from the Rangers. If everything goes down to hell, you will get them to a safe place, far away from that madman and his goons. This, or no deal.”

Ben nodded. “I’ll do what I can.” Abe wanted to say something, but Ben’s phone started ringing. He answered the call. “Major Tallmadge. What? When? We’re on our way.” Caleb looked at Ben curiously. “ ’Sup?” “Rangers broke into a pawn shop. Just a few streets from here.” the major answered. “Let’s go!”

Abe watched his friends hastily leave, and was thinking about their favour.

 

On the same afternoon, not too far away from Setauket, Simcoe and another Ranger were riding through the street into the slums nearby. They were carrying packs. The residents gathered around as they stopped and parked their bikes. Two teenage boys made their way to the Rangers. “What do you want here?” the smaller asked. “We don’t have anything you could take.” Simcoe took off his safety helmet, and smiled at the teen. The boy took a step back. “On the contrary.” Simcoe trilled “We came here to give you something. In exchange for a little help.” The people scattered away from them. Only the two boys remained. “What help?” Simcoe opened one of the packages. It contained clothes, food and some other goods. “These can be yours. All you have to do, is go around in Setauket, and cause a little mayhem.” he smiled again. “That’s not a big price for such treasure, isn’t it?” The boys glanced at each other, then the talkative one nodded. “All right. I’ll help you.” “Excellent! My friend here will escort you to where you’re supposed to make a little noise. Just to be sure, you don’t screw me over.” The other boy sighed, and added. “I’ll go too. Won’t leave my brother alone.” Simcoe glanced at him. “How nice of you.” he said dryly, and tossed the other package to the second youth. “Wear these. After our deed is done, you’ll get the rest.” The brothers took the bag with the clothes, and went off with the Ranger on their tails. They didn’t ask questions.

 

 

Ben adjusted his earpiece, and communication device. “Do you copy Brewster?” Caleb’s voice came in from the end of the line, though a bit static. “I don’t copy anything, I’m as original as one can be. But I hear you, Tallboy.” Ben sighed. He was way too tired for his friend’s idiotic jokes. “There must be a few Rangers nearby. The owner of the pawn shop said they broke in only a few minutes ago. Maybe they’re still there.” Caleb hoped so. He was waiting for the perfect moment to tear another body orifice for Simcoe. Ever since he killed Caleb’s uncle. Much to his disappointment, he only found two of the Rangers, still in the pawnshop. He raised his gun and snuck in.

Meanwhile Ben watched the unfolding scene through one of the surveillance cameras. The Rangers there didn’t seem to notice Caleb, who easily caught them. “These aren’t Rangers.” he scoffed later, when both he and Ben returned to headquarters. “Just kids wearing their patches. They didn’t even run, for fuck’s sake.” Ben sighed. “I’m afraid we’re up for another unpleasant surprise then.”

 

 

“How’s our alibi going?” Akinbode asked while parking his Harley next to Simcoe’s Triumph. The Rangers were gathering in a field, not far from an abandoned town in Connecticut. “I have gone quite a length to provide them cops with a distraction.” Simcoe answered. “You’ll see eventually.” “Right.” Akinbode scoffed. The gang’s numbers slowly swollen until all free and uninjured members of the Rangers were present. Two days ago, they got a message from the Oyster Bay-bound Pirates, that stated that the Rangers surrender half of their territory and business to them, and their allies, the Outlaws. The latter gang was known for their gruesome deeds, but Simcoe wasn’t the kind of man who got frightened by threats of violence. He eagerly waited for his own turn.

 

 In the nearby ghost-town, a few miles away, the Outlaws already had a dispute with the Pirates. The Outlaws – led by a pair of brothers – argued that the Pirates violated their turf, and took a lot of their clients away. The Pirates’ leader, a man by the name of Jimmy Ryder, stated that the “turf” the Outlaw brothers referred to; belonged to them in the first place. A loud noise of an approaching bike silenced both parties. A lone Ranger rode into town. “Hello, sweetheart! Lost your friends?” One of the Outlaws asked. “Captain Simcoe sent me to bring a message. He’ll be along soon.” Ryder glanced at the youngster in Ranger colours, and asked. “What’s the message then?” The Ranger looked back with a cheeky smile. “Nuts.” Both the Outlaws and Ryder were furious. “What?” Ryder exclaimed. The Ranger unmounted his bike and shrugged. “It means that regarding your ultimatum for the Queen’s Rangers’ Long Island chapter, our leader responded with “Please go and fuck yourself”. Saying “Nuts” was shorter though.”

 

The rest of the Rangers arrived fifteen minutes after their scout. The Outlaws made quite a fuss about something, it was clear even from a distance. They were dragging something behind one of their bikes. As the Rangers approached, they could clearly see what was bound to one of the Outlaws’ vehicles: their scout. The unfortunate young man’s screams could be heard a mile away. Upon arrival, Simcoe unmounted his motorcycle, and walked slowly towards the Outlaw commencing the “asphalt slide” to the scout. “I see you prefer your adversaries helpless.” he spoke, getting uncomfortably close to the Outlaw. “Perhaps you’d like to try your luck with one, who isn’t.” The Rangers had both other parties at gunpoint when he finished speaking. The outlaw dropped his double barrel shotgun to the ground. “I didn’t think so.” Simcoe added and hit the man in the face with all his strength, knocking him out from the saddle of his bike. The outlaw tried to reach for his weapon on the ground, but Simcoe was faster, and he picked it up. “Ah-ah-ah! Nope, don’t even think about it!” the way he said the last sentence was unnervingly cheerful. The Outlaw on the ground tried to get away, but his own shotgun’s stock stroke his head. And again. And again, and again. The last thing he heard was Simcoe’s battle cry. Ryder didn’t want to meet the same gruesome fate as one of the Outlaws, so he drew his gun and shot. He missed Simcoe, but hit another Ranger. All hell broke loose after that. The Rangers were shooting at the Pirates, and the Outlaws were shooting at the Rangers and the Pirates were shooting everyone. It was chaos in its full splendour.

 

 “A shooting near Lyme.” Caleb informed Ben, while sitting down next to him that evening. They were still at HQ, after bringing the two brothers by the name of Newt and Eben in. “They were just decoy. Red herrings, we bought.” Ben buried his face in his palms. “We have to do something, and fast. Washington’s going to pass the case over to someone else if we can’t show some results by the week’s end.” Caleb looked at Ben. “I think we might have something. Let me talk with those guys we just brought in!” Ben held out his hand. “Be my guest! Whatever they can give us, is far more than nothing.”

Caleb went in and interrogated the two, meanwhile Ben was forced to listen to his superiors demanding miracles. He looked up to the big board on the wall, with the details of the ongoing investigation. A pinned photograph of Simcoe smirked down on him, like he was mocking them from afar. “I’ll catch you.” Ben wowed. “You’ll rot in a cell for the rest of your life.” He didn’t notice that he isn’t alone. Another man, bit taller than him in a suit stopped next to Ben. “I’m sure you’ll manage, major.” he said. Ben turned around, startled by the stranger voice. “Excuse me, I didn’t want to disturb you.” the newcomer said and held out his hand. “Colonel Alexander Hamilton, DEA.” Ben shook hands with Hamilton. “DEA?” he asked. “Are you here because of the Rangers as well?” Hamilton nodded. “They are trafficking a new designer drug, and it already killed a dozen people in Long Island alone. We want to stop them at all costs.” Ben frowned. “Same here, but to no avail.” Hamilton smiled. “Well, that might change today. I have an arrest warrant against Simcoe and his buddies. We found some fingerprints and shotgun shells, that might be enough to keep him under arrest until you can break him and force him to confess.” Ben blinked in surprise. “What are we waiting for?” Hamilton glanced in the direction of the interrogation room. “I suppose you want to bring your friend.”

Far away from the shootings, in the sleepy Sheriff’s office in Setauket, Dr. Hewlett was waiting to be able to tell the investigators what he knew. He was nervous, like never before. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting.” a nice female voice said, and Hewlett raised his head. “Anna?” he asked in surprise. The woman in the grey dress was equally surprised. “Edmund? I thought you went back to Scotland.” “Well, I did. I’m on a vacation. Richard wrote me, and asked if I could spend a little time at this side of the pond.” Anna smiled. “I see. Why don’t we go somewhere less crowded?” she asked, looking at the curious townsfolk listening to them while standing in queue, so they could see the Magistrate, and the Sheriff, and tell them who stole their chicken this time. Edmund nodded, and followed Anna to a briefing room, where they sat down opposite each other. “While I’m really happy to see you, I have to ask that we keep this conversation professional.” Anna stated. “Of…Of course.” Edmund agreed. Anna picked up a notebook, and a pen, and wrote down some notes to herself, before turning her recorder on. “First of all,” she started “I would like to know what can you tell me about Simcoe. You were his superior during the war, correct?” she put the recorder between them. Hewlett cleared his throat. “That man has issues.” he said. “I tried to convince him to stop behaving like a rabid animal, begged, threatened, even sent him to court martial, but it didn’t work.” Anna took notes. Edmund continued to speak. “He always was this violent, out of control, evil thing.  He killed people for fun. It’s no surprise that he is leading the criminal gang that is terrorizing the state.” Hewlett silenced for a moment, remembering all those things he didn’t want to. “He even tried to kill me on more than one occasion. Somehow, he has a fixed idea of me being weak, and therefore I must perish.” Anna frowned. The more she discovered about that man, the more she hated him. “Go on.” she told Edmund, while noting herself to look up superiority complex in the psychology book. “What will happen if he turns out to be clinically insane?” Edmund asked. “He will be sent to an asylum instead of a prison.” Anna answered. “A much lighter punishment considering the state penitentiary’s conditions and overcrowding, but if he really is insane, he must receive treatment.” Edmund nodded. “As strange as it sounds, I would feel sorry for him if he’d end up in a madhouse. Even if he clearly belongs in one.”

 

_“...Oh Lord, Heaven knows_

_We belong way down below_

_Way down below_

_way down below_

_way down below…”_

The sirens wail cut through the smoke and screams. He felt the adrenalin rush, the blood running through his veins, the life. His bike reached top speed, and he thought he finally lost that damned black sedan, but he was wrong. He saw the turn on the road, so he had to slow down if he didn’t want to crash, and the two cops chasing him finally got their chance. A shot was fired at him, and he heard a loud “clank” as the bullet ricocheted from the tank, and he was losing speed very fast. Simcoe cursed as the distance between him and the black car decreased drastically. Another shot whizzed next to him, missing both bike and biker. He was searching for a way to escape, but the third shot hit his rear wheel, and the world turned around with him.

 

“We need him alive!” Ben shouted, while Caleb leaned out from the car’s window. “If you hit him at this speed, he will crash and die!” “Not that he wouldn’t deserve it, the bastard.” Caleb spat, but he managed to shot Simcoe’s wheel, and watched gleefully as he tumbled over. Ben stopped the car, and they walked over to Simcoe and his broken motorcycle. “Game over!” Caleb said, fishing out a pair of handcuffs. Ben was a bit more official about it. “John Graves Simcoe, you are under arrest for drug trafficking, assault, speeding and several more crimes. You have the right to remain silent…” “Which right I hope you will honour.” Caleb inserted, while turning Simcoe around, and cuffing his hands behind his back. The tall redhead laughed. “Speeding? Are you arresting me for speeding? You serious?” his already high-pitched voice reached new levels when he was laughing hysterically. He only stopped when Caleb forced him into the black car’s backseat. He remained silent until they reached the HQ. The procedure was the usual. He was thrown into a cell, and the two investigators left for a while. Ben was relieved, and told Hamilton that their quarry is here. The head of the DEA responded with “You have 24 hours to get him to talk, and give us something to press charges for. Sadly, none of the crimes we associate the Rangers with could be traced back to Simcoe himself. And we can’t throw him in jail for the rest of his life for speeding.” Caleb shrugged. “Assault would do for a few months. At worst, we can use that against him. For that we have proof.” Hamilton nodded. “Get him to talk.”

 

Simcoe was hard to break though. “So you’re playing “good cop-bad cop” with me? Try harder.” he said, leaning against the wall of the interrogation room. Ben tried to negotiate, with Caleb sitting next to him. “If you cooperate, I can guarantee that your sentence won’t be that harsh.” The Ranger gave Ben a condescending smile and pondering look. “As flattering as it is that you’re so worried about my time in prison dear major, I don’t believe you. You can do better.” Caleb decided it was time to put away the honey and bring the whip. “Good. That way we don’t have to do extra work to put your sorry arse away from the Outlaws we just caught. You’ll be very popular anyway, with that funny voice and nice long hair.” Simcoe’s smile was cold and hard. “That might give me some concern if – I repeat – if I’d go to prison. But you don’t have anything, mate. Right now I could file a report against you, for assaulting me, breaking my bike and almost killing me in the process.” Ben tried to save what’s left of their argument. “We still have evidence against you, and we will use it. Your only chance for a mild punishment is to cooperate with us. We know about the turf war between your gang and the others.” “You might as well go and harass them then.” Simcoe suggested, still smiling.” I don’t see my lawyer around, and I didn’t remember you letting me call. So, I don’t have to tell you shite…Major.”

“He’s right.” Ben admitted grudgingly. Caleb shook his head. “Listen up, you murderous son of a bitch! The only way for you out of here is either in a body bag, or in a nice orange suit. And don’t think we can’t find anything against you in one day.” Simcoe started to laugh. “One day? I’ll be out sooner!” That was the last drop. Ben saw it coming, but was unable to stop Caleb before he rushed over to Simcoe and hit him so hard he fell over. He just hit that madman until his cheeky laughter turned into pained screams. Ben looked at the surveillance camera, and found it odd, that it wasn’t operating.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, Simcoe's in trouble! But we all know he'll manage. ;)  
> Thank you everyone for reading so far, and encouraging me to nurture my little "runt of the litter" work. I couldn't do it without you. I hope I can match the expectations with the upcoming chapters. :)  
> Btw, Simcoe's bike is the same type as this: https://sta.sh/028kkjncsyyg.)  
> Lyric quote from "Heaven knows" by The Pretty Reckless: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2LdI7rzowk 
> 
> Up next: What is Major John André up to? And what exactly happened to Elizabeth, that made her flee her home and look for her ex-lover?
> 
> Update: Changed the picture of John's bike to one that is 100% fitting.


	6. Dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little flashback to the time when Elizabeth met MI6 agent John André, and accidentally overheard something that made her flee her home. In the "present" time, Anna commences a psychological study and interview of Simcoe, which ends up horribly for both of them. Akinbode, finding the chance he always wanted, makes a run for it, leaving the Rangers, and along with them, his girlfirend Abigail, and her son Cicero as well. Anna collects her thoughts, and declares that she needs more information. Ben presses charges against Simcoe for assaulting police officers, and finds some curious glitches within the law enforcement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, dear readers and passersby. The following chapter contains:  
> \- James Bond references  
> \- Strictly fictitious conspiracy theory  
> \- Lyrics from "Arsonist's Lullaby" by Hozier (See link for the song at the end of chapter)  
> \- Mildly OOC behaviour for the sake of the fic's narrative.   
> Also, violence, mentions of various mental illnesses, F-words, and implications on someone's sexuality. Proceed with caution!

_February 20 th, 2021._

 

Elizabeth wasn’t sure about her feelings towards her new commission by the head of a firm she never heard of before, but it had a serious sounding name, and a fat pay check for her paintings. The Universal Exports building was in a nice district in downtown London. Elizabeth walked in, talked with the receptionist, waited until they called her name, and anxiously stepped into the elevator. As it lifted her up until the top floor, she had time to think. Her aunt and uncle didn’t need her support; they were fine existentially. She wanted to compensate them for all that they’ve done for her… And John. She felt a dull pain in her heart when she was thinking of him. It’s been years since he went away but she never stopped missing him. She dated a few guys, tried to get over John, but in vain. She became very reserved, only living for her art and studies. Sometimes she sold a painting or two, and gave all she earned to aunt Margaret. She felt burned out. Grey. Her paintings also became more dark and macabre themed, so it came as a surprise, when she got the call from Universal Exports, and their offer for one of her less macabre, but still gloomy paintings. She reckoned it must be because of the war. Everyone became gloomy and fatalistic ever since the world started burning for the third time again. The elevator stopped, and opened, but it wasn’t Elizabeth’s destination yet. The doors opened, and a handsome man with long blonde hair and a curious little braid stepped in. “Hello!” he greeted Elizabeth, who also muttered a “Good afternoon” in response. “Oh, we're going to the same floor.” he said, noticing the glowing button on the control panel. “I’m here to see a Mr. Mitchell.” she said, just to say something. “You don’t happen to know where can I find him, do you?” The blonde man flashed a smile that could melt icebergs. “I do know where Mr. M’s office is. I’m heading there myself.” she felt her curiosity rising. “Is that so? Then nice to meet you, Mr…?”

“André. John André.” Elizabeth shook hands with the man. “Elizabeth Gwillim. I’m the…” “Famous painter I recommended to my dear colleague.” The mysterious Mr. André surely had a way to impress, Elizabeth gave him that much. “Your paintings are extraordinary.” he said, and she felt the blood running to her cheeks. “Why thank you.” They arrived at the top floor of the building. As the doors opened, André let Elizabeth leave first, and opened the door for her. All of which she was grateful, but at the same time made her feel uncomfortable, like she was some kind of a child, who can’t open a door for herself. The office they were invited to occupied most of the building’s floor, with only a waiting room with a secretary to separate the elevator from it.

Elizabeth had to wait a bit more, it seemed that André fellow was a more important guest than she was. She didn’t mind it much, and wandered around the waiting room, examining older paintings, looking out the window and trying to figure out the names of the various potted plants that dotted the area. The receptionist got a call and left, so Elizabeth wandered closer to her desk, and was looking for a post-it or something she can sketch on, when she heard muffled voices speaking from the office.

_“…As you probably know Major, their government is losing control. Our agents there are urging us to make a move, and send someone to aid them. You were the one we chose for the task. You will travel there as a journalist, writing about the rising success of the S &A. Your mission is to get close to the CEO, Benedict Arnold, and uncover his connections to the party responsible for the worldwide conflict. Also, see if you can find anything or anyone else useful.” _

Elizabeth backed away, but unfortunately she knocked a plant over. The pot broke, and made a loud noise. The office’s door opened, and the blonde man with the braid peeked out. “Is everything all right?” he asked, and Elizabeth tried her best to act like nothing happened. “Yes, I was just looking at the paintings, and… It was an accident. I’m sorry, I will recompense.” André flashed another hundred Watt smile at her. “Don’t worry dear, I’ll call the cleaning service.” he walked over to the receptionist’s desk and was calling the clean-up service. Elizabeth turned her head, and saw the other man, the one who was speaking to André, looking at her. She turned away. “Um… Mr. André…” she stopped the man as he was making his way back to the office. “Yes, Miss Gwillim?” “I um… I think I have another appointment today, and sadly can’t wait until Mr. Mitchell is free to see me. Would you please be so kind and apologise in my stead? I really have to run.” she managed to stutter, and then she did run. The unnerving stare of the man in the suit, the sweet, but simpering manners of André and the details of a possible conspiracy she just overheard was too much for one day.

John André was looking at Elizabeth’s back as she hurried away to the elevator. He suspected that she might overheard his and his superior’s conversation, but he wasn’t sure. And if she did, what would it matter? After all, she was a civilian. He went back to the office, where Mr. M told him to make a search. “And after who or what, should I search for?” he asked. “Miss Gwillim.” came the answer. “We believe she might have connections with one of Arnold’s lackeys.” André raised his brow. “Really now?” Mitchell pushed over a file to André. “Remember your personal favourite madman, you freed from prison about a year ago?” The major’s face clouded up. “Of course I remember, still have nightmares whenever I hear his name. What does he have to do with all this?” “What do you think, who supports this merry group of criminally insane brutes?” André didn’t have to hear the answer. “S&A. And the Rangers became a support unit for Arnold’s own regiment.” Mitchell nodded. “Now you know why we need all of these men in a body bag. Or at least where we can supervise them.” André stood up, and turned around, to leave. “Before you go…” Mitchell’s voice stopped him. “I think we might have a leak. You should do something with that.” John nodded and left the office. He was thinking of Miss Gwillim’s hasty retreat.

 

September 10th, 2022

 

_“All you have is your fire_

_And the place you need to reach_

_Don’t you ever tame your demons_

_Always keep them on a leash…”_

 

Anna heard Simcoe’s falsetto from the hallway. She never pegged him to be a musical type, and there was something eerie in his voice when he sang. She walked over to his cell. The singing stopped long before she was close enough for him to see.

“Good morning, Mrs. Strong!” he greeted her. “And a lovely morning it is too.” Anna held her notebook close to her, as a shield against the demon she was about to interrogate. “I’m here to interview you and examine your mental stability.” she said as calmly as she could. She saw the two guards; who were there to escort her and Simcoe to the interrogation room approach. “It will be quick. We’ll just have a little talk.” Anna stated. Simcoe stood up from his bunk, and stepped over to the railing. Anna didn’t see his face too well because he was laying down in the moment before, and the cell was dimly lit, but now she saw the bruises and scars, and the blackened skin around his eye. “That’s what your friends told me, you know.” he said. Anna couldn’t force herself to say a word. The guards opened the cell and shepherded Simcoe and her to the briefing room she found herself spending more and more time in. After the guards forced their captive to sit down in one of the chairs, they moved away to the door. Anna pulled a chair in front of her subject, and sat down, holding her notebook and pen on top of a file. “Let’s begin then.” she said, once again placing a recorder on top of one of the unoccupied chairs. “I hope that major Tallmadge and detective Brewster are in for a little scolding for what they have done.” Simcoe chirped while stretching his long legs. Anna positioned herself to be as far away from him as possible. “I have no information about that.” she stated. “I shall ask you a few questions, and I ask you to answer them truthfully. Can we begin?” “Hit me with your best shot Mrs. Strong.” he grinned. “Fire away!” Anna would really want to shoot him in the face, but her only weapon in hand was the file, containing the reports of previous psychological examinations of the man sitting in front of her. “Tell me about your childhood! Did you have any conflicts with your parents?” Simcoe tilted his head, and pretended to be thinking for a moment before answering. “Would it be easier for you to write that report if I say I have daddy issues?”

Anna turned a few pages in the file. “You lost your father early. It must have been a hard thing to cope with.” “No, it wasn’t” Simcoe answered. “I barely knew the man I bare the name of. He was rarely at home, so his death was nothing more than a note from a foreign country. India, if I remember correctly.” Anna written something to her notebook. “Would you say the same about your younger brother? I received a report from a child psychiatrist who counselled you and your mother after your sibling’s death.” “Then why ask me?” Simcoe asked. “I won’t say anything new.” “The report contains that you were not affected by the death of your brother, and that you have psychopathic tendencies. Still not going to comment that?” “I would love to indulge you Mrs. Strong,” Simcoe said with a slight tone of impatience in his voice “but I’m afraid I cannot provide you with fresh information. Other than that I’m not a psychopath. I have feelings, you know.” Anna wrote another note to herself. She felt uncomfortable, and embarrassed, and as she put away her notebook, to check another thing in the file, she dropped her pen. She muttered a curse, and leaned down to pick it up, but another hand was faster. Anna raised up and frozen in her seat, seeing Simcoe examining her pen with a bemused expression. The guards slowly started to walk towards them. The Ranger handed over the pen to Anna. “There you are.” “Thank you.” she mumbled. “Well, back to my questions…” she turned another page in the file “After your mother’s death, you were raised by your godfather and his wife, and my reports say you were close with their foster daughter.” “Nonsense.” Simcoe objected. “She’s much younger than me, we had nothing in common, and barely met.” Anna scribbled another something in her notebook. “I see. So, you deny that you had a romantic relationship. And what about your time in the military? Can you tell me about what was going on between you, and your superior, major Hewlett?” “Between me and Hew…” Simcoe laughed out loud. “Excuse me, Mrs. Strong, but what exactly are you trying to figure out? Am I insane or am I secretly gay?” Anna blushed, and cleared her throat. “Please, John. Could you just answer?” Simcoe stopped laughing. “He was unfit for command. And he never missed an opportunity to humiliate me. I was the better warrior, and he knew that.”

Anna noticed something in his voice, and she decided to stay with the topic, see if she can find out what. “And what makes you think that your commanding officer’s skills were inferior compared to yours?” “Major Hewlett has proved himself incapable of defending Setauket, even with an entire company at his disposal.” Simcoe answered arrogantly. Anna felt her blood pressure rising. She knew Edmund from way back, before the war ended, and she knew him as a decent and good natured man. A man she once loved. “He’s a fine officer, and a gentleman.” she stated, hoping that her fierce tone might stop the lips of the beast in front of her from moving. Sadly, she had to be disappointed. “He’s weak. A quill-pushing clerk unsuited for the rigors of war.” The arrogance and the simperingly condescending tone in his already annoying voice just threw Anna’s resolve over its threshold. “And you’re not half the man he is!” she caught herself saying. There was a moment of awkward silence, and Simcoe looked at her in the eye. “That was a very rude thing to say.” he stated. “And also very unprofessional.” Anna was still furious. “Perhaps you’re just not used to hear the truth from those you can bully and intimidate. You want a professional opinion? I’ll give it: You’re a narcissistic, psychotic mockery of a human being. And I will see to it, that you spend the rest of your life in that orange suit, and in solitary confinement!” Anna rose from her seat as she was almost shouting those last sentences at Simcoe, who was just sitting in front of her, and didn’t even blink. “If it makes you feel better” he said, still calmly and on a low voice “You can call me a monster. An unfeeling, narcissistic monster. But tell me, who is at fault for it? Is it me? Or is it the people throwing this at my face ever since I was a child? The so-called doctors, who ask me their stupid bloody questions, and label me like a lab rat? Answer me that, madam. Of course, if I’m not offending you by simply asking you to get off your high horse.” Anna stood up and gathered her files. She forgot to turn off her recorder, so it was still on when she walked past Simcoe. “I wonder if I’ll ever be half the man everyone seems to want me to be.” He said sadly, musing to himself, but Anna’s recorder got it. She fled the interrogation room, and left him to be dragged back to his cell by the two guards. As the cell got locked behind him, Simcoe sat down on the floor, and caught himself wondering about Elizabeth, her problem, and the five years he spent in his godfather’s home, after his mother took all of her prescribed medicine.

  _“Don’t worry Johnny. Your mom will be all right.”_

_“No, aunt Margaret, she will not be. She will die.”_

The same morning found a certain Ranger waiting for his boss in vain. Akinbode was standing next to the wall of Holy Ground, and texting Simcoe for the hundredth time. He felt that something was wrong. He also knew, that now it would be his responsibility to lead the Rangers, and he didn’t want it. He walked over to his Harley, and started the engine. He was heading to the wreck that was the remains of former New York. None of his comrades knew where he went, so he reckoned that no one can tell Simcoe, if he ever comes back to them. He parked his bike in front of a tall building, which probably had seen better days, and went up to the fifth floor. The tidy hallway was in harsh contrast with the decaying façade of the building. He knocked on apartment 7’s door. A sleepy Abigail opened it, lighting up as she recognized him. “Hey!” she greeted. “Hey, honey! Sorry for not calling earlier, but I need my things.” Akinbode explained, as he progressed towards the small bedroom. “How’s Cicero? Still sleeping?” Abigail shook her head. “Probably already in school.” Though she was still groggy because of the early hour, Abigail wasn’t stupid. She knew something was off. “Why are you here? I mean, I’m glad to see you, but why the rush? Is anything wrong?” Akinbode walked over to her, and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. I just need to leave for a while. But I’ll be back, I promise.” Abigail felt that something bigger is going on, but she knew it was useless to ask Akinbode about gang business. He took their wow of not sharing information with outsiders very seriously. A few minutes later he was packed up, and ready to go. Maybe forever. Abigail stood there in the doorway, and watched him leave. She knew that her son will be sad, and she couldn’t even explain to him, what happened.

Anna was sitting in the cafeteria, trying to force down the suspicious brown liquid they served as coffee. She didn’t notice Ben, who sat next to her with his own dose of caffeine and a sandwich. “How did it go?” he asked, and Anna jumped a few inches. “Horribly.” she sighed. “He got under my skin, and I couldn’t get back the upper hand from then.” Ben took a sip of his coffee. “I can keep him here; you know? For more than a day.” Anna looked at Ben. “You have something against him?” “Assault of a police officer. And this time I can prove it.” Anna was surprised, but after seeing the colourful bruises on Simcoe’s face, she could easily imagine that he also insulted someone physically. “I don’t want to go back and interrogate him again.” she confessed. “But sadly I still can’t quite make his profile yet. I have to work on it.” Ben nodded. “Then do that. You don’t even have to speak with him again, if you don’t want to. We found his girlfriend.” Anna raised her head in curiosity. “Girlfriend?” Ben looked at her with a surprised expression. “I thought you already know. She’s in your files. A lady called Elizabeth.” Anna furrowed her brow, and rummaged through her files. She remembered Simcoe saying he never had any romantic relationships, or any interest in his godfather’s niece. Yet the only Elizabeth the files mentioned was that woman. “He lied.” she stated. Ben was confused. “What do you mean?” Anna showed him the recording of her ill-fated interview. “He was playing with me, lying about everything.” she steamed. “I have to start from scratch, because probably all the previous records were corrupted as well.” “You can’t be sure.” Ben said. “Before you draw any conclusions and make your profile, I’d like you to interview Miss Gwillim too. Caleb is on his way to bring her in.” Anna nodded, and Ben stood up. He couldn’t force that horrible liquid down, so he threw it in the trash bin. He was exhausted, and he knew that he won’t see his bed for another day at least. Ever since the DEA came into play, things got funny around HQ. He clearly remembered the disabled security camera in the interrogation room where Caleb beaten up Simcoe the day before, and it wasn’t the only one of the anomalies Ben found. He wanted to talk with Caleb, but he had to wait until his friend gets back with the woman they were about to question.

 

Elizabeth was worried. She was also happy for meeting with John again. She outlined and painted the picture she was sketching the day before, and caught herself looking at the road, and hoping that a certain motorcycle with a tall and fairly handsome rider will appear. She had to be disappointed. After finishing the painting, she went back to her house, and searched for her phone. She got a text from aunt Margaret, a call from her friend Mary-Ann, but no text or call from John. Elizabeth felt a bit disappointed, but she shrugged it off, after all, they have met again for a long time yesterday. She had a lot of things to say to him, but she didn’t want to rush it. Besides, she didn’t even know if he was at work, or that he had someone. Twelve years had passed, and she wanted to check up with that. Yesterday it seemed that John wouldn’t mind it either. She put her phone away, and picked up her sketchbook and her bag, to go and explore the neighbourhood a bit, maybe draw a few more landscapes. She was just putting the key to the lock when she heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching, and stopping right at her front yard. Elizabeth turned around, to be faced by a bearded man in a black trench coat, holding up a police badge. “Miss Elizabeth Gwillim?” Caleb asked, and she nodded. “Please come with me!” Elizabeth walked over to the bike, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking “Why are you arresting me?” Caleb laughed. “No madam, I’m not arresting you, I would like to ask you a few questions.” “So…” Elizabeth said while adjusting the second safety helmet to her head and sitting behind Caleb “I’m not in trouble.” “Not at all. But you know a person we are really interested in putting behind bars.” Elizabeth had a bad feeling. “Who might that be?” she asked. Caleb turned his head back to her “His name is John Graves Simcoe. He’s leading the gang of criminal bikers known as the Queen’s Rangers.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Here we are. This chapter was hard to write. (Had me plotting and thinking reeeeeally hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together without telling too much), and I'm still very displeased with it, but that's it. I refuse to rewrite it again. -_-;;   
> And I promised a link, so here, go give it a listen if you want to. :)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eJbxI-jZbA


	7. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna tries to convince Elizabeth to testify against Simcoe and the Rangers. In the meantime, Abe makes some new friends, and gets his trial mission from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, dear readers and passersby! This one will be a short chapter, but don't fret, I will post the next one shortly after you get this.   
> Warnings for this chapter are:  
> Implications of drugs and trafficking, mental illness, acts of violence, hints of fluff, biker gang etiquette.

Elizabeth looked around in the interrogation room she was escorted to and was ordered to wait there until the person tasked with questioning her arrives. She was worried about John, and what have been done to him, and why was he imprisoned in the first place. A few minutes later a dark haired woman in a light grey dress walked in. “I’m sorry for keeping you wait, we shall begin shortly.” she held out her hand, greeting the other woman. “My name is Anna Strong, and I’m a profiler.” Elizabeth shook Anna’s hand, and waited until she sat down opposite of her. “Why is John in prison?” she asked. Anna frowned. “I’m sorry, I cannot give you an explanation about the investigation.” Elizabeth lowered her head. “Can I at least talk to him? See him?” Anna shook her head. “No, sorry, but until further notice, he is in solitary confinement, and can’t have visitors.” “I see.” Elizabeth stated, worrying even more. Anna misunderstood her troubled expression, so she tried to lighten her up a bit. “You are not in trouble, Miss Gwillim. We’re just talking. He won’t know.” Elizabeth sighed. “Let’s get on with it.” she said. Anna opened her notebook and placed her recorder between them. “First, I’d like you to talk about your relationship with John.” using the man’s first name felt unnatural to her. It made him human, something she never imagined Simcoe to be. “My uncle is his godfather, and we know each other since childhood.” Elizabeth answered. “He was my first love, and I was only 14.” Anna drew the wrong conclusion. “Did he… Hurt you, or attempted to?” she asked, and was surprised by the look the other woman gave her. “God forbid, no!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “He would never do such a thing.” she smiled. “He wrote a poem for me, but never showed me. Sure, he is a bit creepy sometimes, but I don’t think he’s the criminal you’re looking for.” Anna scoffed. “Miss Gwillim, I think you have been played by that man. I have proof that he murdered and tortured many men, even among his subordinates.” Elizabeth tried to remain calm. “He was a soldier. He fought for his country. He did what every other man…” Anna looked at her with disbelief. “Even his superior spoke about him being “savage, unpredictable and insubordinate.” Elizabeth felt her defence falling under Anna’s reasoning. “He formed a criminal gang from his former comrades and subordinates.” Anna continued. “It bears the same name as their military unit, the Queen’s Rangers.” “And what do they do, to be so high on your list of bad guys?” Elizabeth asked. “Have you ever heard of Nightshade?” Anna asked back. Elizabeth shook her head. “It’s a designer drug the Rangers are trafficking. It’s highly addictive, carcinogenic, and heightens aggressiveness.” Elizabeth lowered her head. “I don’t think…” she started, but Anna interrupted “According to the DEA, there are dozens of people dead from using Nightshade, or from its side effects.” Elizabeth looked scared. “John is just one man.” she said. “He can’t be everywhere, and can’t supervise all of his men all the time.” This time Anna shook her head, again in disbelief. She decided to bring more evidence to the table. “I know John, and he’s not a monster!” Elizabeth exclaimed. Anna opened the dossier next to her, and started to place photographs of people in front of the other woman. People who got killed or hurt by Simcoe or one of his Rangers. “Take a look at these!” she said. “Take a good look. All those cuts are made with a serrated blade. We both know; who prefers to use that.” Elizabeth’s eyes teared up, as she picked up a photograph and examined the dead body on it. “No…” she muttered. “Those are all the handiwork of your dear John.” Anna stated coldly. “And countless others we don’t have evidence to charge him for.” Elizabeth hid her face in her palms. Anna’s voice softened a bit, as she reached out and patted Elizabeth’s arm. “You didn’t know that about him, did you?” Elizabeth shook her head. “He’s good at manipulating others.” Anna said. “It’s not your fault at all, Miss Gwillim. He fooled you, like he fooled many other people.” Elizabeth wiped her eyes, and let out a short, bitter laughter. “Yes, he’s good at making people believe him. But not the way you think.” Anna raised her brow “What do you mean?” “You’re working on a field that involves a lot of psychology, and you didn’t see it?” Elizabeth asked, this time with a slight doubt in her voice. “It’s all an act. And John is good in it.” “Or maybe he’s good in making you believe, that his cruelty and carelessness is an act, when in reality he’s a dangerous sociopath.” Anna added. “He cares for me, and he cares for people who are close to him.” Elizabeth argued. Anna had enough. “I interviewed him as part of the investigation, and he was pretty straightforward about not giving a damn about anyone. He stated that he simply can’t comprehend the concept of mercy or compassion, things he casually labelled as “weaknesses”.” Elizabeth couldn’t say a thing. She wanted to object, to recite her memories of those long lost, and the very recent days she spent together with John, but she couldn’t force herself to do it. Anna sighed, and gathered the gruesome pictures from the table, putting them back to their dossier. “Look, I don’t pretend to know how you must feel right now Miss Gwillim, but you have to help us.” Elizabeth raised her head. Her tears left wet trails on her face. “I love him.” she said on a voice so low that Anna barely could make out the words. “He was clearly stating that he doesn’t love you.” she said. Elizabeth’s amber eyes flashed, with something Anna couldn’t quite categorize. Was it anger? Pain? Both? When she spoke though, there was no trace of sadness in her voice. It was confident, and a bit antagonistic towards the forensic profiler. “I don’t believe a word about it, Mrs. Strong.” Elizabeth stood up, and grabbed her bag and her sketchbook. “And now, if you don’t want to put me under charge for something, I will be on my way home.” Anna nodded. “Of course. You’re free to go, Miss Gwillim. But I ask you to please consider a testimony.” Elizabeth shook her head. “So you can lock John up in prison? Find another fool for that!”

She barely made out of the police headquarters. She wandered aimlessly for the rest of the day, and cried her eyes red on a bench in a park. She couldn’t sleep at night, because all she heard was Anna saying those words she dreaded to ever hear. “He clearly stated he doesn’t love you.”

 

“That woman is dense” Anna said, taking a sip of her tea. Ben looked at her compassionately. “She’s in love with him.” Anna continued. “I can’t even… How could anyone endure being close to that man, not to mention loving him? She must be just as crazy as her beau. Imagine, she saw the victims, she saw the reports, I told her what he said, and she still didn’t believe a word I said. Or refused to. I don’t think she’ll ever testify against Simcoe.” Ben patted Anna on her shoulder. “There, there. We’ll find another way.” he said. “Besides, it’s not sure that she won’t believe you. Maybe she’s just in the denial phase.” Anna nodded. “I guess. Well, it must be very hard for her.” she looked so sad, gazing at her tea, and then looking at Ben. “He lied to her. Completely caught her in his web, and it must be very painful to have your eyes opened like that.” “And… You feel guilty?” Ben asked. Anna nodded again. “She was hurt; I could see it. Still, I’m not sure that she will overcome her denial and admit that Simcoe is a monster that had to be put down.” “We’ll see.” Ben added. Caleb walked into the briefing room, and sat next to his friends. He was on the phone. “I will tell them, Woody. All right, just don’t panic. Remember, they smell fear, like dogs.” When he hung up, he looked at Ben, who was half asleep by now. “Abe’s on his way to meet with the Rangers.” he said. Ben wiped his eyes. “We should follow him then, see if it goes well, or if we should intervene.” Caleb patted him on the shoulder. “No, no Benny boy, you’re going home with Annie, and have some sleep. Don’t want you to fall over and die from exhaustion.” “Caleb’s right.” Anna added. “The world won’t fall apart while you’re sleeping, Ben.” Tallmadge rose his hands in defeat. “All right, you two. I go home, and have my much needed rest. I imagine Caleb can handle the madhouse until I’m back again.”

 

Far away from his bantering friends, Abraham cursed the moment when he agreed on Ben and Caleb’s plan to insert him as a spy among the area’s most violent and dangerous biker gang. He was heading to Holy Ground, but was honestly surprised that it was almost empty. The barmaid told him that the Rangers don’t come around until dark, so he had to wait. He expected to see the tall frame and fiery hair of the gang’s notorious leader, but only a few members came to the bar, and they seemed quite gloomy about something. Abe went over to them. “What do you want?” one of the gang members grunted. “To talk with your boss.” Abe replied. “I heard you are in need of… helping hands.” The Rangers glanced at each other, and then the grumpy one talked. “I don’t know where you got your information, kid. But it happens to be true.” Abe crossed his arms. “And? What should I do to get the honour of hanging around with you guys?” The Ranger next to Abe patted him on the arm. “First of all, sit here, and drink with us, yeah?”

 

Caleb watched from a distance, and thought the whole scene going favourably. Abe fit in quite quickly, and after a few hours, he left the bar along with the Rangers. One of them was explaining how to fix a broken V-belt to Abe. Like they weren’t a bunch of murderers and petty criminals. Caleb shook his head in disgust.

 

“Well, thing is, that Simcoe’s missing.” Bran told Abraham the next day. “So, he’s the boss, and only he can say yes to accepting you into the gang, and only if you do the trial. I bet McRae and Falkoff didn’t tell you that eh?” Abe shook his head. “I know a little about motorcycle gangs and their etiquette.” he answered. Bran shrugged and returned to fixing a battered Triumph Tiger. Abe found the bike familiar. “Nice looking beast that one.” he said. Bran chuckled. “It is. Been through a lot. Someone seemed to fire at it recently. Destroyed the tank, and one shell damaged the brake system.” Abe leaned closer, and examined the holes in the motorbike’s chassis. “What do you think?” Bran asked. Abe shrugged. “According to the size of the hole and the angle, the rider was fleeing, and someone was shooting at them. With military grade stuff, if I’m correct.” Bran nodded approvingly. “You been a military-man yourself?” “No,” Abe answered “I’m just a farmer. But I have my own fascinations with all kinds of peashooters.” Bran’s face got occupied by a wide smile. “Well then, you’re the man we are looking for. Some of us have a little disagreement with one of the Pirates, and a certain person, who rather sold his peashooters to them. Now, that’s a thing we can’t just let slide, are we?” Abe felt like he was getting sick, but nodded. They got back to fix the damaged bike, and were almost ready, when they heard a familiar, trilling voice. “Why don’t you introduce your new friend Bran? He seems like a crafty fellow.” Abe felt the blood freeze in his veins, and turned around, to face Simcoe’s cold stare. “Where have you been?” Bran asked. “We found your bike but you were gone.” “I had a little clash with the authorities.” Simcoe answered. “But – as always – they had nothing against me, so they had to let me out. And just when I got back to Holy Ground, I got word about the newbie. I had to see it for myself.” His smile was unnerving. Abe got himself worrying, what if his motives are easy to see? What if these gangsters find out what he’s really up to? He turned away, but still felt the piercing stare of Simcoe’s icy blue eyes on his back. “What are we going to do tonight then?” Bran asked. “Still have that smuggler who turned us down for the Pirates.” Simcoe leaned against the wall, and finally moved his cold stare from Abraham. “What are you suggesting?” he asked without a hint of interest in his voice. “Farmerboy here wants to join us.” Bran explained “And I thought he could come, and help us discuss the matter with the smugglers. Might earn his half-patch.” “Do you have a bike?” Simcoe asked from Abe. “No, I don’t. But I can manage to get one.” “No need. You will come with me on mine.”

Later that night, sitting on the speeding Triumph, and holding on to the most dangerous man he ever heard of, Abe once again cursed the moment when he started to go along with his friends’ plan. The sound of the Rangers’ vehicles was like the roaring of a ten headed beast, ready to raise hell and consume everything in its path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: How and why Simcoe got released from prison? Elizabeth is torn between her feelings for John and the things he did and does. Drama intensifies, Lola intervenes, and Abe gets sick after his completed trial.


	8. 24 Hours, 7 Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Caleb has to let Simcoe go on his merry way. Again. He reunites with Elizabeth, but she confronts him about his criminal activity and dismisses him. Lola intervenes, and puts some pieces of the puzzle together for Elizabeth. Abe helps Simcoe in a gruesome skirmish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to add this one tomorrow, but I could finish it today. So here we go.  
> Warning, this chapter contains: Drama, sexual content (not too explicit, but still), questionable morals, usage of alcohol, mentions of cabbages. Also, long-ass chapter warning again.

Ben was looking out the window of his black sedan while waiting for the lights to turn to green. He missed his hometown. Even with the Rangers and various other criminal gangs, Long Island was less battered after the war than former New York. The ruins of tall buildings dotted the landscape, and people were gathering around bonfires made in big metal barrels. The streets were full of debris and trash. The war ended one year ago, but the world still didn’t quite recover from it. Ben wondered if it’s like this in other places too, or just his country. He drove to his own house, and shut the door behind him. His small apartment was just as worn and gloomy as everything out there. Ben put his keys to the table, and went to take a short shower, as water was distributed in rations. After he cleaned up, he went to his bedroom, and passed out for the remainder of the day.

It was 4:30 AM when his phone ringing woke him up. He took a few seconds to regain his senses, and picked up. “Wakey, wakey Tallboy!” he heard Caleb’s voice. “You have half an hour to get yer arse back to work. We got some news for you.” Ben stretched. “Good news?” he asked. “Partly.” Caleb answered. “I’ll fill you in with the details when you’re here.” Ben got up. “All right, talk about filling in, you better get me something that resembles coffee.” “Nah, you won’t need that after you hear the news.” Caleb stated “Your blood pressure will be high enough without caffeine.” “See you in half an hour then.” Ben said, then hung up to get ready for work.

 

He made it in less than half an hour, which was a miracle with the horrible traffic and the always occurring riots. Ben walked in to the usual briefing room, where Caleb, Anna, and a few others of the investigating team were already sitting and discussing the case. Anna passed a paper cup to Ben as he sat down next to her. “Let’s hear the good news!” Ben said, glancing gratefully at Anna, and back to Caleb, who was standing and leaning to a desk. “Abe agreed to go with our plan, as you already know.” he said. “But there are some serious complications with the matter.” “Like?” Ben asked. Anna turned to him to answer. “Though he managed to get along and blend in with the Rangers, he can’t be a member until he is formally accepted.” “That means, until he’s just a hang-around, the Rangers won’t say anything to him about what they are up to.” Caleb added. “They talk no business with outsiders, and sadly there is only one person, who can decide if someone is worthy to be chosen by them, or not.” Ben started to understand the measure of the problem. “You don’t say that this only person is…” “Yep.” Caleb said shortly. Anna joined the conversation again. “We have no other choice, but to release him. I have his profile, and we know that he’s not stupid, so if we just let him go, he will suspect that something’s fishy.” Ben hid his face in his palms. “What about our other mole? He could vote for Abe, no?” Caleb looked at Ben, and scratched his head. “Well, our little mole decided to make a run for it, and left town. Maybe left the state too, we don’t know, because he completely went off-radar. He could be on his merry way to Canada for all we know.” Ben took a sip of his coffee. This day couldn’t get any worse. “Let’s cook up an explanation on why we are releasing Simcoe then.”

 

The fore mentioned redhead was asleep, and having an intense nightmare, so he was still a bit shaken when the guard woke him up. “Wakey, wakey!” he heard Brewster’s voice from the other side of the cage. “You’re lucky, you bastard. We received the order today, just a few minutes ago. Sadly, it wasn’t your execution warrant.” The guard opened the cell, and shepherded Simcoe out. “You see detective Brewster, I told you.” the taller man smiled smugly. “I will be out. It was more than 24 hours though, so you won that one.” “Get out of my sight, and pray our paths never cross again.” Caleb spat in response. Simcoe chuckled. “On the contrary, detective. I wish our paths may cross each other again one day, from the bottom of my heart.”

He got his things back, though he double checked his cell phone for bugs or tracking devices. He found none, but wanted to be sure. He would probably bug his own phone if he were in the detectives’ stead. He had to take public transport, because his bike was left in the ditch he fell into with it when Brewster shot his tank. He wandered around town for a while, but then he had an idea about where should he go. He was unsure if he should see Elizabeth right now, but he wanted to tell her that everything is okay. She had called him at least four times while he was in that cell, and he didn’t know if she took his silence as rejection, or if she was worried about him. It just seemed to be the thing people did when someone was worried about them. With a sigh, Simcoe knocked on Elizabeth’s door, and was waiting until she opened the door. He immediately noticed that something was very wrong with her. Her eyes were red, and swollen, and she looked like she just got out of bed, though it was way past noon. “Hello, Lizzy.” he greeted her, and he wanted to ask what happened, but she looked into his eyes, and interrupted “What are you doing here?” “What do you mean? You called me, but I couldn’t answer you, so I thought I come over and ask if you’re all right.” He answered, but she turned away. “What’s wrong, love?” Elizabeth wiped her teary eyes, and took a deep breath, to be able to say what she wanted before she could change her mind. “They told me. Everything.” He had a bad feeling turning worse by the minute. “Who told you what?” he asked, with an unusually low tone. Elizabeth fought her tears back. “I was taken in by the police, John. They told me about your gang, and about what you do.” She felt her sadness give way to anger. She was mad. Mad about that man who wore the face of her love, but was nothing like him. “I saw the pictures of dead people, who got killed by your hand and by your blade. What can you say to make it right?” Simcoe stared at her with the same expressionless face he made ever since the first time she saw him. Elizabeth didn’t even blink, she wanted to hear him say something. Defend himself maybe, or even acknowledge his sins. Anything would be better than the heavy, awkward silence that fell on them. After a while, he took a breath, and said “I am not your knight in shiny armour anymore, Lady Lizzy.” he was staring at a spot over the hedge, and over the road. “I have nothing more to say about that.” She shut her eyes, and turned away. “Go away.” she pleaded. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she stopped his hand halfway through. “Elizabeth…” She felt her tears welling up again, and she didn’t want him to see her like that. “John Graves Simcoe, if you care about me, if you ever cared, you will turn around, sit on your bike, and ride out of my life.” she said, shutting the door behind her. John stood there for a moment before doing exactly what she asked. Only he didn’t have a bike this time. He decided to walk. To clear his head, to forget her.

 

Forgetting was harder than he thought though. She was always on his mind, when he was asking around to know where his vehicle is, when he went back to Holy Ground to catch up with the rest of the gang, even during intercourse with Lola. She was riding on him, demanding that he say her name. He bit his lips, to prevent another name from escaping, but the quicker she moved, the less he could control himself, and sighed “Lizzy” between two thrusts and moans. He got smacked on the face, but it didn’t matter. Lola didn’t mind it anyway. He called her all kinds of things, and she called him all kinds of things too. That was part of their game. She kissed him and bit his lips, her hands pinning down his to both sides of his head, his back arching as she tightened her grip around his waist, ever coming closer to the end. She let go of his hands, and he grabbed her hips. Their breathing became heavier, and their moans louder, until it was all over. She left him lying on her bed, until his head got cleared of the cloud of what happened between them. He threw one of his arms over his face, still struggling to regain control of his breathing. He felt the mattress sinking next to him, as Lola sat beside him, with a glass of brandy. “She means that much to you?” she asked. “Who?” Simcoe asked back without even lifting his arm from his face. “That Lizzy. You seem to think about her a lot.” “It doesn’t matter.” he stated numbly “She told me to bug off.” “If it wouldn’t matter, you wouldn’t think of her.” Lola stated, running her fingers through the hair on John’s chest. He flinched when she touched a wound that she made only minutes ago. “Do you love her?” Simcoe raised his arm from his face, and put it behind his head. He made a thinking expression. It was a good question, really. Was it love that he felt towards Elizabeth? Or only longing? He would give her the moon when they were younger, he remembered that, but she wanted none of what he seemed to offer. He caught himself thinking about her during the war, when he was alone, and remembered the warm feeling he got when he received her letters…and the tide of shame he felt when he thought about how would she feel if she’d know the monster he had become. Now she knew, and - as John suspected, - wanted none of it. “I don’t know.” he confessed. Lola stroked his face. “What do I supposed to feel?” He asked. Lola ran her finger down on the line of his jaw, neck, and was taking a sip of her drink. “Numb?” he asked again. “I can’t remember feeling anything else. What is it like to love someone?” “Maybe to care about what other people think, even people you barely know, maybe it is the way to the love you want.” Lola answered gently, putting her glass aside. After another hour together, he went away to take a shower. Lola picked up his phone and scrolled through his text messages. She knew he would be mad, but she didn’t care. After she found who she was looking for, she sent a message, and locked John’s phone again. He didn’t notice that his cell phone was tampered with. He got a call from McRae, and it was about some new recruit, if Lola could hear correctly. Not that she cared much about Ranger business, the only one she cared about was John anyway. The man fascinated her. She went over to him after he hung up, and wrapped her arms around him. He was like a statue, firm and cold. She could hear his heart beating under the fabric of his shirt. “I wonder if you’ll miss me, John.” she said, letting him go. Simcoe permitted himself an archaic smile, and said “So do I” before turning and leaving.

 

Elizabeth was sitting on her couch, curled up to a ball of guilt and regret. She couldn’t chase away the pictures Anna showed her, the wounded, and the dead and harrowed. And he of all people was the one to blame. She heard stories of soldiers going insane, crumbling under the pressure, but she never imagined that John would be capable of such horrible acts of violence. He had his troubles as a teen, sure. But who didn’t? Even uncle Samuel was forgiving if it came to John’s sometimes quite rebellious behaviour. Or was there something she and her foster parents never noticed about him? As she remembered, John was always shy, not speaking much, because of his girly voice, and because he was mocked for it. He was aloof, cold even. Maybe – Elizabeth reasoned – he was a monster all along, they just failed to realize. Or maybe he turned into one because they failed to see something. She remembered walking through the small forest separating her foster parents’ house from the road with him, holding hands. Sitting under old trees, reading poems, or lying in the grass under the summer sunset. He didn’t seem like a monster. Elizabeth started to wonder what happened to John, that turned him into the criminal he was now. She wanted to talk with him, to ask him all that, but now she knew that he wouldn’t even pick up the phone. But what was she supposed to do? He was a dangerous criminal, a murderer… The buzzing of her phone derailed her train of thought. She got a text from John. _“Meet me @holyground. I’m sorry, I want to talk. J.”_ Elizabeth wiped her eyes. Maybe he was also a mind reader. She got herself together and searched for a map to find out where this place called “holy ground” is.

Later she stepped in from the entrance of the nightclub, not being sure what to find there. Loud music, barely dressed ladies and some of the Rangers were present, as she already thought. She made her way to the bar, and sat on an unoccupied barstool. “What’ll it be, honey?” she heard a woman ask. “You have something for heartache and betrayal?” Elizabeth asked back, looking at the woman behind the bar. She had her curly black hair tied on the top of her head, with some loose bangs making their escape to the back of her neck. Perfect skin, in a shade of tan. She smiled at Elizabeth, and took out a glass from under the counter, and poured a liquid into it which Elizabeth couldn’t quite identify. “On the house.” she said. “Thank you, miss…?” the barmaid poured another glass of liquor. “Lola” she said. “Lola?” Elizabeth repeated. “I think I heard that name somewhere before…” “Maybe John muttered it in his sleep?” Elizabeth mis-swallowed her drink, and coughed. “So, you know him.” she managed to utter after regaining her voice. “It depends.” Lola answered. “You must be Lizzy.” Miss Gwillim nodded. “And I just happened to make him hate me.” Lola laughed. “Then run for your life… Though I wonder what did you do, to make our dear John hate you. If he in fact, hates you at all. I quite can’t imagine him doing so.” Elizabeth looked at Lola with a surprised expression. “Why do you say that? I sent him away… I told him what the police told me about him… That he…hurts people.” Lola looked around, and back to Elizabeth. “In case you haven’t notice dear, this is a nightclub, full with the members of various motorcycle gangs and other criminals. And your boyfriend frequents this place. Was it a shocker to find out, that he actually is a member of one of the gangs?” Elizabeth shook her head. “No, that wasn’t the point.” “Then tell me dearest Lizzy, did you not know that there was a war going on for years, that ended only recently? Did you think it left people who fought in it unscathed?” Lola’s voice wasn’t judgemental or condescending, only asked questions Elizabeth herself was asking from the universe during the past day. “They told me he’s a monster. And showed me what he did to people.” “People who were no angels themselves.” Lola refilled Elizabeth’s and her own glass. “Evil is a point of view.” she said. “John might be a monster to one, and a hero to another.” Elizabeth took a sip from her drink, and looked at Lola, pondering. “You know a lot about people, aren’t you?” “I read men well.” Lola answered.  “And I know John is not what he wants the world to see about him. He hides behind the wall he built, the tough, ruthless attack dog he wears as a mask. To hide the sad, lonely, insecure little boy, who is so afraid of rejection that he sang love songs while heavily intoxicated under his sweetheart’s window, so it won’t hurt that much when he finally got the raspberry.” Elizabeth was shocked. “He… He told you about that? And no, I wasn’t rejecting him! That was the thing what made me really fall for him, to be honest… But then, he dumped me for the military.” Lola chuckled. “You still don’t get it, do you? He pushes people away. He does that on purpose. He’s a curious man, I give him that.” “And why would he do that?” Lola played with her choker, and the silver cross on it. “He’s afraid. Of his own feelings. He is not used to being vulnerable… emotionally, and when it not involves bedroom games.” Elizabeth blushed. Not that she expected John to be a monk in her absence, but to hear about “bedroom games” with him from another woman made her cringe a bit. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, but wasn’t sure she wants to hear the answer. Lola laughed again. “You claim to be his lover but you don’t know?” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I…uh… I love John. We were together for a few months before he enlisted, and I didn’t see him for twelve years after that. We aren’t together in that way, so we haven’t had…” she lowered her voice “I didn’t sleep with him yet. The closest we ever got was a kiss or two.” Lola grinned at Elizabeth. “That’s cute. Well, I have a lot to fill you in then…”

When Elizabeth called a cab to take her home, she was a bit tipsy, but at least she knew what she wanted to do. She also learned that the text was from Lola, but she didn’t take offense. She needed that talk, even if it was with a woman she never saw before. Lola seemed to know a lot about John, things Elizabeth never dared to ask him or had the chance to learn about him. Some of those things made her blush, some made her feel sorry for him. But now she knew that he was ill. He wasn’t a monster, but someone who needs help. And she knew she will be there for him. After closing her apartment’s door, she sat down on her couch, and called him. She felt she had to apologise.

 

The “discussion” with the smugglers ended up in bloodshed. Abe wasn’t surprised, knowing Simcoe’s reputation, but he hoped for a short time, that the Rangers’ already high body count won’t rise even higher. At least not that night. He tried to stay out of the firefight, but he couldn’t escape his would-be gang leader’s icy stare. He had to be convincing. So he shot in the direction of one of the smugglers. He missed, and he was relieved. Right until Simcoe shook his head and shot the guy. It was over just as quickly as it broke out. Only one survivor remained, and it was an older man with a bad quality artificial leg. He tried to escape. Abe felt Simcoe pat his shoulder, and he looked up to see the taller man nod his head in the smuggler’s direction. Abe raised his shotgun. His hesitation was painfully obvious. “Come on, Woodhull! Do it, or the only patch you’ll ever get from me is a cabbage patch!” Abe swallowed, and aimed the shotgun. His hands were shaking, and he was nauseous, and would rather turn his weapon against the tall brit standing behind him. Simcoe stared at him with an expressionless face and steely eyes. He reminded Abe of a shark. The beaten, worn out man on the floor started to beg for his life, and Abe flinched, but before he could do anything, a loud buzz, followed by the ringtone of Simcoe’s cell phone interrupted the ordeal. John picked up the phone, while held up his finger, ordering Abe to wait. “Elizabeth!” he sounded surprised to hear her. “Love, you called in a very inappropriate time, I’m working at the moment.” their victim tried to get away. Simcoe put his hand over the phone’s microphone. “Don’t let him escape!” he ordered Woodhull, and Abe turned to grab the man, and held him. He himself wanted to escape too. “Listen Darling, I can’t really talk now. How about I go over to you when I finish with my odds and ends, and we’ll talk? No, I’m not mad at you Lizzy, I never was. They stuffed your head with lies, bullied you to believe what they wanted you to believe. There’s no shame in that.” The way Simcoe talked with his sweetheart over the phone made Abe want to throw up. “I really must be going now. Cheers!” He hung up, and shoved the cell phone back to his pocket. “Where were we?” he asked, walking over to Abe and their victim. “I remember now.” he leaned down, and took his knife into his hand. “We were about to make a statement about why it’s unwise to screw us Rangers over.”

 

It was later that night. Mary Woodhull was still awake, sitting in an armchair, waiting for her husband to come home. Her father-in-law and her son were sound asleep, along with their houseguest. It was all quiet and serene, yet Mary felt a sense of dread. After a few hours of idle waiting, she began to fall asleep when she heard a loud noise, maybe a motorcycle, dangerously close to their front yard. She stood up, and went to the window, to see what causes the ruckus. It was indeed a motorcycle, with a familiar figure…No, two familiar figures on it. Abe almost fell over from the velocity with which he jumped off the vehicle, like it was some kind of a dangerous animal. He was standing in the front yard for a few minutes, and talking with the other man Mary didn’t know personally, but saw enough of his face in the police news. He waved goodbye to Abe, and drove off into the darkness from whence he came. Abraham stumbled into the house, and immediately rushed to the toilet, and threw up. Mary couldn’t imagine what was going on, so she waited until Abe felt better. “What happened to you? What did you do on John Simcoe’s bike? Are you hurt?” she showered him with questions. Abe washed his mouth, and turned to her. “It’s all right. I’m fine. I just… Don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Mary didn’t feel it was okay, but she let her husband get over whatever troubled him at the moment.

 

On the road, Simcoe was thinking about the possible causes for the sudden turn of events. Abraham Woodhull was there when he held the old judge and Major Oyster as hostages, saw him shooting his father, and many other people in that raid a year ago. He felt something was off. He, if he would be in Woodhull’s stead, would probably die first than to join the ranks of those who wronged him. But then again, he wasn’t in Woodhull’s stead. In fact, he was happy. Not because of Abe, but because of Lizzy. He couldn’t wait to knock on her door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will put this and my poor head to rest for a few days, so update will be either on Sunday, or somewhere next week. Thank you all for reading so far, <3 for you. Comments, kudos and all that jazz are more than welcome, but not mandatory. :)
> 
> Up next: John and Elizabeth's teenage romance, and the budding relationship they have now a.k.a. "Love Theme". Stay tuned!


	9. Love Theme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little flashback to John and Elizabeth's teenage romance, and their reunion at fic-verse present. Lizzy also confronts Simcoe on his destructive behaviour, and manages to get him to acknowledge that he has issues. Meanwhile, the law-enforcement Culper-team gets information from Abraham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again, dear readers. As much as I wanted this to be all fluff and sweetness, it didn't turn out that way. (I had to rewatch a lot of episodes of TURN, and frankly, I got lost on how and why Elizabeth would convince herself of loving someone like Simcoe, but then again, he's not always that bad.) Chapter 9 contains:  
> Fluff, some F-words, angst, distorted morals, references to ancient and outdated music, mentioning of killing horses and also of severe mental illness and some dissing of plot devices in modern literature.

She remembered that summer from twelve years ago. The warm June evening, when she was sitting next to John in the forest near her aunt and uncle’s house, and held him close for the first time. Something always fascinated her about him. Elizabeth wondered when did she realize what she really feels for him. It was more than just a little girl’s childish admiration, a baby-step taken in learning how reality differed from the fairy tales and romance novels. He was broken, hurt, distant and cold, anything she was not. They were like October and April, worlds apart yet drawn closer by a feeling none of them could identify at that time.  “I want to see your smile.” she told him once. “I know you since I was a toddler, yet I never saw you smile.” “I have no reason to.” he said briefly, indifferently. “Then I will give you a reason.” and she tried. Tried and failed many times, but she didn’t give up. Then, on that evening in June, sitting next to John on an old tree trunk, she managed to make him smile. It was like snow melting in spring. “You have beautiful eyes.” she told him. John looked startled. “You…want them?” Elizabeth chuckled. “No, they are pretty where they are. In your face.” “Well…Thank you. I grew them myself.” he answered sheepishly and smiled awkwardly. She gave him the drawing she made for him, and his smile grew bigger, turning into laughter. They went back to the house holding hands. Aunt Margaret saw them, and scolded them, but Elizabeth heard something in her voice that made her think that this scolding was anything but serious. A bending of personal beliefs over society’s norms. John however, took it very seriously. He avoided her for days, she barely managed to get a few words out of him during family meals or meetings. But whenever the adults were not looking, they were holding hands, standing close to each other. They took long walks together in the forest or out on the road. Elizabeth watched as John was training to ride a motorcycle, with concern that he might get hurt, something that didn’t seem to bother him. He fell a few times, but was determined, and refused to give up. She liked that. She liked the way he laughed, and the way she held on to his waist, speeding away from their foster parents’ house. Elizabeth wanted it to be like a fairy tale. Her modernized knight in jeans and a leather jacket, pulling her up to his horse made of steel, running off into the sunset on the highway. Their first, shy kiss happened after they drove away to the countryside on John’s bike. They immediately separated afterwards, and decided it’s time to go home. The fluttering feeling inside Elizabeth’s belly told otherwise though.

 

They went out together more often, as June turned to July. John also made some acquaintances with a few older boys with an interest in motorcycling. Sometimes he joined them. Aunt Margaret and uncle Samuel were both happy and concerned at the same time, and they didn’t hide it in front of their niece. “It’s good for him to have friends.” once again, Elizabeth had to admit that her uncle sees things in brighter colours than her aunt. “He’s been drinking and fighting, Sam.” aunt Margaret was mortified at the first time they caught John sneaking home while intoxicated. “Oh, for crying out loud, Maggie! He’s only eighteen. Do you think I was any different at his age?” aunt Margaret shook her head and held her hands up in defeat. “You have a heart of gold, my dear. And you spoil that boy, and it will come back to bite you, you’ll see.” Elizabeth didn’t interfere, she was taught not to interrupt the conversations of her older relatives, but couldn’t decide who was right and who was wrong from the Graves couple. She turned her attention back to her drawings of the view from the window. Later that night, she heard something, some noise coming from beneath her room, from the garden. Elizabeth was going to bed early, so she was on the edge of sleeping. She sat up, wiped her eyes, and went to the window, to see what’s going on. A wide grin appeared on her face when she saw John barely standing next to a bush of hydrangeas and roses, producing something that loosely resembled to singing a song. He later referred to his performance as “wailing like a dying cat, that was ran over by a bus”. Elizabeth giggled at first, then she leaned on her windowsill, listening to the words he sang. They stayed with her for long years after that summer.

_“I wanna know what love is_

_I want you to show me_

_I wanna feel what love is_

_I know you can show me…”_

She never heard the song before, but later she discovered that it was ancient and outdated, but still somehow it was the best love song she ever heard. But it also was a cry for help. John got caught and scolded, and again was hiding away from the world in his room, not even wanting to see Elizabeth. She thought – not wrongfully – that he is just so embarrassed about his midnight serenade that he avoids her. The news of him enlisting and going to Afghanistan were a surprise and a shock to her. She locked up in her room, crying and not knowing what to say. She barely knew about what was going on, but from what she heard about uncle Samuel and John’s debate about the matter, there was a war going on there. Elizabeth couldn’t understand if her life depended on it, why would John want to go to a distant country and get himself killed. She wasn’t really interested in the matters of warfare, but even she knew that people die in wars. Soldiers and civilians alike. She wanted to run over to his room, and beg… no _demand_ that he stay here by her side, and tell him that she is more than willing to show him what love meant. But then she swallowed her tears and her heartbreak. She can’t be that selfish. John seemed very eager to go, to do something he was trained for. She couldn’t take that away from him. She made him promise that he will write to her whenever he can, and even gave him a goodbye-gift. A small notebook. “For keeping your thoughts in.” she said, holding on to the sensation of his warm hand touching hers. Maybe for the last time. They escorted John to the train station, and they were standing next to the train. He gave her a small smile, and a kiss. “Goodbye, Lizzy.” he whispered. “Goodbye, John. Travel safe!” she answered, and watched him boarding the train, not even looking back, as it took him away from her. She was waiting for his letter, but never heard from him again.

 

Elizabeth sighed and put away her sketchbook. The memory of their short-lived teenage romance combined with what she just learned about John made her head hurt. Was he aware of her feelings at all? Or he was so deeply ill that his view on other people’s intentions and expressions was distorted completely? And more importantly, what was she feeling towards him now? Could she love a man who committed several war crimes, and still engaged in violent criminal activity? How could she, or any decent human being feel anything resembling love to someone who shot a grandpa in the head in cold blood? Then again… She remembered what Lola told her. He needs help. He always tried to communicate this to the world, but everyone was blind and deaf to it, until it was too late, and he turned into a cold blooded, manipulating monster, revelling in bloodshed. Or was it too late? Elizabeth stood up and started to walk around in circles. She called him, and he was heading to her home. They will talk, and she will make him realize that he is sick, and needs to seek help. She will drag him to counselling herself, if necessary. But how can someone reason with a madman…?

Elizabeth stopped. An image of John’s sad blue eyes and tired smile emerged from her memories. Maybe he’s still in there somewhere. Buried deep within the Monster’s hide, the desperate, sad young man still lived. She just needs to help him find a way out. But what if it is too late? She always hated those stupid romances, where the obviously horrible human being of a man was miraculously “fixed” by his quite dim-witted but good natured female partner. But then again, she wasn’t going to “fix” him. She was going to make him understand that he is mentally ill, therefore he needs medical assistance. She also decided to keep distance for now. She heard a knock on her door.

 

“You called, my lady.” Simcoe smiled at Elizabeth, as she opened the door. “Come in!” she stepped away and gestured for him to get inside. His instincts told him that something was wrong. He stopped not far away from the door, and watched suspiciously as she closed it behind them. “All right, what is it?” he asked coldly. Elizabeth faced him, tilting her head to be able to look into his eyes. “I want you to be honest with me, John.” “All right… I guess.” he answered, still suspiciously looking down at her. Elizabeth blinked and took a deep breath, before she asked “What happened to you? You lost your ear, and your last shreds of humanity, and I want to know who or what is responsible for it.” John stared at her with an expressionless face, and his voice was indifferent as he recited “India. Afghanistan. Northwest Pakistan. Syria. Lebanon. The whole bloody World War Three. It wasn’t exactly a flowerbed, love. And I survived because I knew how to. And heaven knows, I would do it again if I must. So you see, Lizzy… This is who I am.” Elizabeth shook her head. “No. This is what you’ve become.” she reached out and held his hand. “I know you.” “Do you now?” John pulled his hand back from Lizzy’s. “You only know what I wanted you to know.” he said, his voice sing-song and chattery, but also cold as a blizzard. Elizabeth lowered her head, and felt her anger taking over her good senses. “So, you’re saying you were a monster all along? This sad, horrible excuse for a human being, whose only source of happiness in his life is to terrorize innocent people?” She saw the look on John’s face but there was no way back. “I see you still fancy yourself as a warrior… Well breaking news: warriors are there to protect their people. Not to hurt them.” She looked back at his face, but saw nothing of the previous expression. Simcoe’s stone mask was still on. But for a glimpse, she could see what was underneath. “You’re telling me I was wrong about you, ever since I met you?”

 He was looking at her with a furious gleam in his eyes. “Get off your high horse, Elizabeth.” John said disturbingly calmly. “And don’t talk about things you have no idea of.” Elizabeth hit his arm. “Then tell me, for fuck’s sake! Talk!” Simcoe was not somebody who backed off from a fight. “Very well.” he said. “You want to hear war stories? I shall indulge you then.” his hateful, angry tone hurt Elizabeth’s ears, but she bore it without batting an eyelid. She gestured to her couch. “We might as well get seated aren’t we? You have a lot to tell me.” John went over and sat on one side of the couch, she on the other side. At least one more person could sit between them, if there were anyone else. “So?” Elizabeth said to break the awkward silence. “I’m listening.” “I will tell you everything, but before we even start this little conversation, I would like you to answer me a question.” Simcoe said still with his neutral tone. Like he was talking with some business associate, not with the woman he supposedly loves. Elizabeth turned over to face him, curling her legs under her. “Ask away then. I have nothing to hide from you.” His face flinched again, as if she said something insulting, but then he nodded and asked “Why do you care? Why do you want to know all of this?” Elizabeth answered in an instant “Because I’m worried about you, John.” “Worried? Well, you shouldn’t burden yourself with it, love. I can handle myself.” he said dryly. She chuckled bitterly. “Yea, I saw that. By the way… I want to know why you do this? What makes you feel or think that you should do those things to these people.” Simcoe turned his head away from her. “You already called me a monster, and a mockery of a human. You were right about that. I’m a beast, and beasts follow their instincts.” Elizabeth leaned closer, and placed her hand on his arm. “You are a man John, not a beast. You are capable of reasoning, thinking and feeling. You might be angry. You might be sad. But deep down in your core, you are human.” Simcoe looked at her then laughed out loud. “Don’t tell me you have been talking with Lola.” Elizabeth blushed, and tilted her head, looking away from his face. “Well… Yes, I have met her. What gave me away?” “You say exactly the same thing she always tells me.” his voice lost its edge, and was unusually soft. “Poor girl, she doesn’t know that when we met for the first time I was about to kill her.” Elizabeth retreated her hand from his arm. “But you changed your mind, her being alive and well.” John nodded. “I still don’t know why.” he confessed. “She saw into my soul.”

 Elizabeth tried her best to swallow her horror of John’s indifference and the casual way he admitted to plan to kill someone. She knew that he had to kill people in the war, and she accepted that as a sad and horrible reality, but as Lola’s memory came to her mind, she couldn’t help but think that this man sitting next to her, is really a monster, wearing the body and face of a person she knew. “I know it’s messed-up.” she heard Simcoe’s voice after a short pause. “We both were messed-up. For hell of a long time, she was the only one who could see me as a human. Made me drop my guard and show her my throat. That’s not something anybody can achieve.” His eyes searched for her gaze. “You know about us, I presume. I hope it doesn’t make you feel bad.” Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I’m not jealous. I never expected you to make a wow of chastity.” John smiled. “I suppose it’s a bit late for that anyway.”  Elizabeth returned his smile, but he put his mask on again shortly. “Do you love her?” she asked “Once again. The same question she asked from me.” he replied. “But this time, I can provide an answer relatively easily.” he took a breath, then turned to face Elizabeth. “No. I do not. She is just a prostitute I paid to lay down with. I have to admit that I grew very fond of her, but love? No, I don’t feel that deeply towards Miss Lola.” Elizabeth felt something in her heart that closely resembled relief. She wanted to ask John about his feelings towards herself, but decided it’s too early for that. “Something went wrong somewhere, isn’t it?” she asked instead. “It depends.” John answered. “I might prefer to say that things went this way for a reason.” Elizabeth raised her brow. She might get him to let down his guard, and talk honestly with her. “Please, go on.” she said. “Everything happens for a reason.” he said. “I might not be fully aware for what, and don’t really care to be honest, but whatever has happened to me, made me who I am. I wouldn’t trade it for a happy and careless life.” Elizabeth had to admit, that there was a method in John’s madness. Though she still didn’t know enough about him to be able to put the puzzle together. “You don’t mind the war then? All the pain, suffering, the sadness? The deaths of your family members?” she asked without judgement. “I didn’t say that.” he stated, still unusually calmly. “I am a soldier, a warrior, so war is my natural medium. I don’t mind the fighting, I don’t mind the physical pain, I got used to it. But on the matters of feelings and such… I’m lost.” She slid closer to him, leaning against his arm. “You could write me you know? I was waiting for you to send me a letter, but not a word came from you. For twelve years. I thought you died.” Simcoe looked down on her and his usual archaic smile occupied his face. “A part of me did die in the war. Slowly and painfully, but now I don’t really feel it’s loss.” She felt saddened by what he said. Part of her still wanted to believe that John’s not the brutal and ruthless monster the police officers described him to be. Sitting next to him, feeling the hard fabric of his jacket and the warmth of his body made that conversation with the woman from law-enforcement so distant, like it happened in a different century. “Don’t lie to yourself.” she said, looking up to his eyes. “You still feel the emptiness inside. That something’s missing.” John furrowed his brow. “I shouldn’t let you talk with Lola.” he said, but the playful tone in his voice didn’t elude Lizzy’s ears. “Oh, but it was such an interesting talk.” she smirked. “She told me a lot of things about you I never knew I needed to know.” “Like?” he asked, still bearing that playful tone. “Let’s play a game then!” Elizabeth suggested. “You tell me one thing about your time while we were separated, and in return I tell you one thing I was discussing about you with Lola.” Simcoe’s smile became expressed. “Fair enough.”

Anna sat behind her desk, and was listening to the various recordings and rummaged through the reports of previous interviews with Simcoe, and tried to find out where did he start to play everyone for a fool. She decided that it started when he was twelve. He convinced everyone that he’s a heartless, unfeeling creature. Including himself. His speech and mannerisms were in contrast, and Anna cursed herself for not noticing the act. John was good with words being a poet at heart, and also trained himself to hide his real expressions, but his body-language sometimes betrayed him. Anna watched a video recording with him from several years back. Her beloved Edmund was there too, being the one who suggested Simcoe’s invalidation due to mental health issues. Anna already knew the story from Edmund’s point of view because he told her when she interviewed him for this investigation. Even Hewlett realized that something was off with Simcoe’s behaviour, and his symptoms of various severe psychoses. Anna studied carefully. What did she miss? Why didn’t it add up? What was the matter with this man? She turned the pages of an old medical record, and suddenly she spotted a psychological diagnosis. “Burn Out Syndrome?” she said out loud. “Patient feels numb, unable to connect emotionally with surrounding people, feels drained, and useless. Phantom pains in left leg… Considerably low social skills… Unable to connect with people…” She mused, while still watching the video. The stone-cold mask the Captain wore never seemed to break under the questions directed at him. “Who the hell are you, John Graves Simcoe?” Anna asked from the young man on the tape. “And what the hell happened to you, that fucked you up this much?”

 

They were talking, and sometimes laughing, if only on the absurdity of it all.

“You killed a horse, John. I can never forgive you that.” Elizabeth turned away from him. Simcoe kept looking at her, and asked “Does it count that I was aiming at the Major?” “No, it makes it even worse. Why did you want to kill poor Major Hewlett in the first place?” John looked up, and back to Elizabeth. “Because he represents everything I hate. And don’t be fooled by his oh-so-compassionate behaviour, he’s a condescending, holier-than-thou twat.” Elizabeth found it a bit hard to believe, but she didn’t know the Major. “Did he do something bad to you?” she asked compassionately. “He was unable to do his duty, accused me of being irrational and sent me to court martial. Oh, let’s not forget about the harrowing interrogation by a seat of psychiatrists, just to get me invalided and sent back home in shame.” Elizabeth reached out and held his face in her hands. “John, we both know that you can go to extremes if you’re angry. And what if he was just caring for you? You said you had your dark moments during the war. He might saw that, and sent you to those experts, to help you.” Simcoe’s light blue eyes gleamed threateningly. “Whose side you are on?” he asked on a hushed and much lower voice than he usually spoke in. “Yours.” Elizabeth said, caressing his face. “I’m just trying to help you see another perspective. Sometimes, it helps to get over ourselves, and see things from another point of view.” “It’s quite hard to see things from a different point of view, if you are unable to connect with other people.” Simcoe added coldly. “You can connect with me.” Elizabeth told him, brushing his hair over his face. “And you could connect with Lola. You still have it in you. You just need to accept it, and not see it as weakness.” Simcoe took her hands and peeled them from his face. He didn’t let them go though. Elizabeth continued “Empathy is not weakness. You can use it, even abuse it. Don’t be afraid of it.” “You make it sound so easy.” he smiled, but his eyes remained cold. “Tell me love, what good it brought me? Because all I remember from the time I thought I cared, was only suffering. I killed my brother and my mother. What difference it made?” Elizabeth tightened her grip on John’s hands. “You’re too hard on yourself.” she said. “Am I?” he asked sadly “I was too naïve, too weak, and unable to save the ones I cared about. These are facts. If I can help it, I will never be weak again.” “Even if you have to kill yourself?” Elizabeth asked. John didn’t answer this time.

 

Caleb walked in to their usual briefing room, after receiving a call from Ben. “So, Anna said she has news about our Bonnie and Clyde.” He said, sitting down next to his friend. Ben chuckled. “No, no it’s more like Sid and Nancy*.” “Sid and Nancy?” Caleb asked. “Anna’s punk band reference to our favourite criminal pair.” Ben explained. Caleb chuckled. “Never pegged her for the punk rock type.” “I’m not.” Anna added, walking in. “It was an infamous case of murder-suicide in the 1970’s. A narcissistic drug addict punk supposedly killed his schizophrenic drug addict girlfriend, then not much later overdosed himself. Case closed, but still unsolved to this day.” Caleb raised his brow. “Wow. Dark analogy.” “They will end up the same.” Anna stated. “Simcoe being a narcissistic, sadistic monster and his sweetheart being delusional about his character, it’s bound to end badly.” “So, what are we gonna do?” Caleb asked. “Save her?” Anna sat down and shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe if I could talk with her again, I could convince her to escape before it’s too late.” Ben was scrolling something on his phone. “We might get to it eventually. Right now we have some information from our mole, on the next move of our favourite Rangers.” Anna tilted her head, and Caleb also leaned closer to his friend to see the coded message. “What does Abe say?” she asked. “There’s a turf war among the biker gangs in Long Island, and it seems that the old chapter of the Rangers are back for revenge.” Caleb laughed out loud. “Robert Rogers? The old bugger’s still alive? Everyone thought he was dead when Simcoe took over his place.” “He’s alive and kicking.” Ben validated. “He was gathering some of his old buddies in New York, and probably was planning his comeback all along.” Caleb whistled. “There will be a party tonight, isn’t it?”

 

 

*"Sid and Nancy": Anna is referring to the real people not the movie. Here are some information on them, I'm just being too tired to explain it myself:[Here.](https://www.theguardian.com/music/2009/jan/20/sid-vicious-film)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I already said it once (at chapter 6, if I'm correct), but writing this one was hard as F****.  
> Some additional information:  
> \- I twisted some events from the show to better fit the fic's narrative, so poor Bucephalus got shot by Simcoe instead of poisoned. May you, dear audience forgive me these trangressions, because more of them will occur later.


	10. Burn Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little flashback to John's troubled childhood, and the story of his descent into madness. (Also with a reflection of the previous chapter's teen-romance through his eyes, and some fluff at the end. :D )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dearest long-time readers and newcomers!  
> This chapter is long. And originally it supposed to be the next one, but I swapped the order for no other particular reason than I like suspense (Who would have guessed? badumm-tss!), and wanted to tell the same love story of the previous chapter through John's perspective. (Because being like a cyborg and lost on how to human is fun. Well, not really, but still.)  
> Warnings for this chapter includes: Bullying, minor character death, suicide, suicide attempt, cursewords. Other warnings might apply, but if you stayed with me for this long, you might just know what to expect. ;) Also also, I would like to ask a favour from you: I need some critique on the depiction of John's mental condition. I want to make it creditable, so I need some help with it. I'd be very grateful for suggestions in the comments. I'll give you a cookie in return. Or a drawing. Or a drawing of a cookie, you decide. :)

Oh, also for another note: I got occupied by making some collages for this story, so if you are into such things, here are they: [Simcoe01](https://sta.sh/0gnnd56h3sj), [Simcoe02](https://sta.sh/01ek6jo5lavz), [Simcoe03](https://sta.sh/01sacu3ztitn), [Lizzy01](https://sta.sh/02fv12cswlzd), [Lizzy02](https://sta.sh/02cw7vd3igbk), [Lizzy03](https://sta.sh/01po8m4a7nh8), and the last one for now: [John and Lizzy](https://sta.sh/07pus22bc8m)

Okay, sorry for spamming you with these. ^^;

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“Give it back!” John shouted at his brother. Percy swung the purple heart he held in his hand. “No way. You have to take it.” “Dad gave it to me, not you!” John stated. His little brother shrugged. “So? I’m his son too.” John took a step closer, his still too high voice became deeper as he tried to intimidate his brother to give him the only reminder of their father back. “I will not ask again.” he hissed. “Ooooh, so scary John. I might have nightmares.” Percy answered mockingly. John was so mad, he jumped at his brother’s throat, knocking him over. “I hate you!” he screamed. “I wish you would die and disappear!” They fought, and Percy dropped the medal. Katherine heard the ruckus, and she went to stop her sons from killing each other. She separated them, and held them as firmly as she could. “Stop it, both of you!” she shouted. Percy stuck his tongue out, John mimicked it. “That’s enough! Percy, you should ask before taking something from your brother.” Percy nodded, but stuck out his tongue again when his mother turned her head to her firstborn. “And you, John. You’re the older one, you should have enough wisdom and resolve to not throw a tantrum every time your brother takes something away. You’re supposed to share.” John looked up at his mother, unsure of what she wants him to say. “Apologise you two!” Katherine told her sons. Percy picked up the medal from the ground, and placed it into John’s hand. “You can keep that stupid heart.” he said. “I hate you.” John whispered. At least they stopped fighting for the day. Katherine was relieved, but not for so long, before she heard Percy call for her, and complaining about John being mean.

“John, stop annoying your brother!” Katherine asked her elder son, while she was heading downstairs. The two boys were acting up all day, and she really needed some break from the noise. The stairs creaked as she walked down, and she thought that she should send for the carpenter to fix the banister on the first floor. The old house was about to fall on their heads. Katherine sighed. It was four years since she was left alone with her sons, and troubles just seemed to multiply. She walked out of the house, and cross the street, to ask around for someone who could help her with some necessary renovations. She should be back in a few hours.

Percy shoved his brother to the wall, and ran past him. “That’s cheating!” John exclaimed. “You’re just slow!” the younger brother grinned. They were running around the first floor, room to room, playing hide and seek, nearly forgetting their fight from earlier. Percy always eluded his brother, being smaller and a bit faster. The old wood flooring creaked under their feet. John tried to catch Percy, and he almost succeeded, when he tripped and fell over, pushing his brother to the railing. Percy tried to regain his balance, but failed. The banister made a loud cracking noise as the old, decayed wood gave in to the child’s weight and velocity. It all happened in a blink.

Katherine heard the loud scream, and she immediately ran back to the house. Her neighbours followed her, see what’s wrong. They weren’t prepared for the sight what awaited them. Percy was lying on the ground floor, blood all over his broken little body, covering his face. He was lifelessly staring at his brother, who was kneeling on the floor next to him, sobbing uncontrollably. Katherine was shocked, and couldn’t even move. John started to shake his brother, so the old man from the neighbouring house picked him up, and dragged him away. John was sobbing something like “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” all the time. No one understood, but no one really cared. He was just a little boy after all, only 12 years of age.

After he finally could stop crying, he was left alone. For days. For weeks. Everyone was busy trying to get his mother out of her near catatonic state. At Percy’s funeral, where Katherine almost jumped into the small grave they made for the little boy, crying and begging God or any force of the universe to take her in her son’s stead, and later, when she showed more and more symptoms of a breakdown. If any relative ever even noticed that John existed, he was always instructed to be there for his mother. “Be strong, look out for her!”, “You’re a big boy Johnny, you shouldn’t cry.”, “Your poor mother lost her son, be there for her!”. “Don’t be so arrogant, you can’t afford to be weak. Kathy needs you.” Always the same routine. And he, willing to do anything for his mother, obeyed. He swallowed his grief. He never let anyone see him cry, or let himself be sad or tired or worried in front of anyone. He endured his mother’s fits of rage and self-destruction without a word. He endured when she hit him, telling him that he killed his brother. He never let out a whimper or a sob, just shook it off. After a while, it became the norm. He forgot how to feel, because he wasn’t permitted to do so. He was called a monster, Caine, who slew poor little Abel by shoving him off from the first floor. Eventually, John believed that what she says is true. He killed Percy. He’s a monster.

He had to put up with so much for almost a year, until he was so neglected and pale and gaunt, that the neighbours called their distant relatives, the Graves family. John barely remembered his godparents, he only saw them when he was very little, and later when Percy was born. And now they insisted that he and his mother move over to them. It’s out on the countryside, they said. Nice weather, some animals John can play with, and a big house that surely can house two more along with the family and staff to manage the estate. So they sold the creaky, worn out old house, and Percy’s ghost. His room was still intact when Katherine and John left for good. On the train he kept looking out the window, feeling empty, tired. His mother felt better though, so she let him be. They arrived at the evening, and John was surprised at the warm welcome. It felt alien to him.

Uncle Samuel and aunt Margaret were both nice to his mother “Kathy my dear, what a tragedy!” but also to him, which felt even more strange after all those months of conditioning himself to neglect his own needs and feelings. He just stared at the two adults, who were hugging him and tell him it’s going to be all right. Then he met her. The annoying little girl with the stains of paint on her dress, and the stupid drawings. She asked stupid questions, and always talked about nice things. And how those nice things made her feel. He hated her. His mother’s condition seemed to improve for a few weeks, but then again, she broke down and lashed out on him. She took all of her prescribed drugs after that. Aunt Margaret found her, and called the ambulance. John was there too, but he was just too numb to do anything. He just sat on the ground and stared at his mother. Then the doctors came and took her away. Aunt Margaret sat down beside him and wrapped her arms around his already larger form. “Don’t worry Johnny. Your mommy will be all right.” He turned his head, and his tired, cold eyes to her. “No, aunt Margaret, she will not. She will die.”

 “Something is broken inside that boy beyond repair.” Elizabeth heard aunt Margaret sighing sadly. “Poor child lost his whole family, and saw his little brother and his mother die.” uncle Samuel added. “No wonder he’s distant. Everyone processes grief differently.” It was a month after Katherine’s suicide. John became member of their family, living under the same roof, but reserved and distant, barely speaking with anyone. He seemed aloof and uncaring for anything. He sometimes graced the family with his presence at the dinner table or on some occasions, but he usually just retired into his room, and stayed there. His godfather arranged everything for him, military school, his transfer, his well-being. Yet John seemed indifferent and ungrateful. Aunt Margaret was lobbying to get him to a child psychiatrist, and to a different one that counselled him along with his mother. He obeyed, went to a session or two, and convinced the man that nothing was wrong. After all, he was over his relatives’ deaths. He no longer cared for his brother, hated his mother, but more importantly, hated the man he got the name of, to remind him for a lifetime how he didn’t care about his own blood, only those faceless people in foreign countries he was so eager to help. Then he got killed by the merciless he sought to save. John was determined not to show that sign of weakness.

But after the session was over, and he was alone in his room, he took his pen and paper, and let everything flow out in the form of words and rhymes. All of his fears, hopes, dreams, everything he has buried deep within, were out on the paper, laid bare. He burned them after he wrote them. Aunt Margaret discovered that he set fire in his room, and was very upset. He got scolded by uncle Samuel too. He kept the rest of his poems, but hid them away. He always saw the annoying little girl lurking around his room, asking him to play with her, but he refused. He never had any friends, he knew nothing about what to do. She insisted, so he went out one day in August, to follow her around. She’s not like the other girls he encountered in his neighbourhood. She always draws and paints, smiles a lot, and loves to collect ladybugs. She’s always happy, like a ray of sunlight walking on two neat little legs. She isn’t afraid of him, or repulsed by him. Lizzy, that’s her name. She drew a picture of her family. There are four vaguely human figures holding hands. John felt a pang in his heart. Stupid little girl and her stupid drawings. She told him that she wants to see him smile. He didn’t know what to do with that.

Years passed, and John was boarded in military school, only visiting home at Christmas, and spring and summer break. He grew tall, and fit. Elizabeth blushes a lot when she sees him. He’s still awkward and maybe even more lost at social interactions than he was before. Uncle Samuel heard rumours about him being disobedient, and causing trouble. John tried to deny, but he couldn’t fool the older man. He had to promise to “get himself together”. Next year, he was almost expelled for beating one of his classmates’ face into a pulp. His godparents weren’t happy. He stuttered, couldn’t or didn’t want to explain things. How could he? What could he say? Tell everyone that he kicked the living daylight out of the jerk because he was reading something he wasn’t supposed to? A poem no less, written by John himself to Elizabeth. All of the boys in class laughed at him. Everyone laughed at him. The only person he ever told he writes poems was his godfather, but even the good-natured admiral thought it to be “cute but useless.” “Nobody reads poems nowadays.” he said while patting John’s shoulder. “You’ll grow out of this phase eventually.” So John didn’t utter a single word about the incident with the classroom jerk. He had to put up with other people’s expectations all of his life, and writing poems was his only escape. When he sat and let the ink flow in forms of his words, he was in control. The only person, whose expectations he had to meet was himself. It wasn’t a phase. He couldn’t “grow out of it”, even if the whole world told him that it’s stupid and useless. The romantic side of John, the one buried deep inside a safe fort made of snark and violence, would never give up his only true joy in life.

Elizabeth overheard when aunt Margaret was on the phone, talking with another military-schoolboy’s mother, so she heard the story of the poem. She appeared at his room that night, and asked him about it, but he was unable to answer. He simply blushed –blushed! – and closed the door. He leant to it after he heard Elizabeth leave and hid his face in his palms. He wanted to hit himself in the face for being this stupid. That summer break slipped away in a blink, and he had to go back to boarding school.

The last year was not that horrible as the former years. They feared him, so they left him alone. Some morons still made fun of him and his voice, but he easily intimidated them. The bullies were avoiding him. Elizabeth sent letters, and she always asked when will he come home. She said she missed him. He kept the letters, and sometimes he answered. After graduation, he was eager to return home, one last time. He turned 18 that February, so he could enlist and be a soldier, like he always wanted to. Something unexpected happened that summer though.

Elizabeth was happy to see him. She was always in his company, and he was grateful. That strange, warm, fuzzy feeling he felt ever since she told him that she wants to see him smile was never that intense, like it was then. She said he had beautiful eyes. He was startled at first, because he didn’t know what she means with that. “You…want them?” he asked, preparing to defend himself if she jumps at his face in an attempt to claw his eyes out. But Elizabeth just laughed, and said, that she likes them where they are, in his face. John felt like a fool. He was called many things, people told him that he is irresponsible, reckless, hot-headed, or insufferable. They told him that he has a dumb face. Too long nose. Too high voice. The only thing he heard about his eyes were so far, is that they are cold and lifeless. Then there was this girl, the happy-go-lucky Lizzy, adored by everyone, and she said that his eyes are beautiful. He didn’t know what to do with that either. All he knew, that it felt good. He even tried to joke with saying “I grew them myself”, and smiled like an idiot. She showed him a drawing she made of him, but it was rather a cartoony character with vague resemblance to the model, sticking out his tongue at the world. John was looking at it, and he laughed. She leaned closer and held him in her embrace. He felt a strange sensation, like he swallowed some bugs, and the little critters were trying to escape through his heart. They were sitting there for hours, talking, being very close to each other. She didn’t find him repulsive, like the other girls he met. She also didn’t say that his voice is annoying. They were holding on to one another’s hands while walking back home. And the spell was broken, when aunt Margaret saw them together. She grabbed his arm, and dragged him away to the study. “John, Elizabeth is only fourteen. She is just a child! What on Earth was on your mind?” He tried to speak, but she didn’t let him. “What did you do with her?” she asked. John felt his face getting warmer and that meant his cheeks were nearly as red as his hair. “Nothing!” he hissed. “Good.” aunt Margaret said. “Keep it that way! You can ruin your own life, but I won’t let you drag Elizabeth with yourself, young man!”

John ran away, and locked himself up in his room. He avoided Elizabeth on purpose for days, until she finally managed to lure him out of his shell. He picked up a new hobby, to ease the resentment towards his poems, and told his godfather that he wants to learn how to drive a motorcycle. Uncle Samuel had an old model rusting silently in his barn, and he agreed to give it to John for practicing purposes.

He was horrible at it for a while, falling over more times than he could keep the old rusty wreck straight on the road, but he finally found something he enjoyed. A month passed, and John was full of bruises and cuts from the constant falling – Elizabeth once told him to stop before he suffers some serious injury – but he never felt better before. And he was proud of his newfound skill. He learned how to go on one wheel, how to make those cool tricks, and even gathered all his courage and asked Elizabeth to join him in one of his trips around their mutual foster parents’ estate. She agreed, and John could see the light in her eyes. The excitement, and something else. She was sitting behind him, leaning her head on his shoulder blades, hugging his waist so tight he was afraid he would break. They rode away, far away from the curious eyes of house servants and foster parents. He would go all the way to hell or the end of the world with her, if she would ask him that. But she only asked him to take her to one of her secret places. It was hidden from the road, and quiet. Ideal for hiding in peace. They held hands, sat beside each other, and talked. Or more like, she was talking, and he listened. Elizabeth asked him if he was happy, or if he was ever happy. He laughed and shook it off with a snarky joke, but in fact, he found himself thinking about that question later in his life a lot. He said he was happy when he was with her. Elizabeth’s face flushed, and he scolded himself for being so stupid again. He shouldn’t say something like that. They were just friends. Then she pulled him down, and kissed him. It was nothing more than their lips brushing against each other, but it felt like a high-voltage shock to him. He told her it’s time to go back home after they separated. He avoided her gaze, but asked her to go with him the next time again. And again. They spent almost all of their free time together, and he felt something growing inside, a feeling he couldn’t quite identify then.

 He even managed to make some new friends, a small gang of twenty-something guys with bikes, who also taught him this-and-that about various types, tricks, and even invited him to go with them. It was all new and foreign to John, always the outcast and rejected. So when Elizabeth was occupied with her art studies or other family business, John went out riding with the gang. He, for a short time in his life, felt careless and even happy. But as every positive thing in his life so far, it came to an end even before it began. He was caught sneaking back to his room, bruised and drunk after one rough evening, and aunt Margaret made a fuss about it. Uncle Samuel was a bit more empathetic towards John, being somewhat a rebellious one in his teens himself, but he strictly forbade his godson to ever meet the gang again. That, or the old, worn out bike will be sold. He was furious but he obeyed. He didn’t want to lose the only thing in his life that meant freedom to him.

So he went back to writing poems and then burning them in the fireplace, when it was way too late and no one saw him. He kept scolding himself for being so stupid and naïve. He didn’t deserve to be happy. After all, he was a monster. His brother and mother’s ghosts came and haunted him in his lonely nights, always accusing, always telling him the truth about his nature. Sometimes he caught himself crying silently into his pillow, making him more miserable for being too weak to get himself together. Then he forced himself through another day. The only thing that helped was her. Elizabeth was always happy to see him, to be in his company, and it made things a bit easier. The waves calmed, the darkness went away until he was alone again. The more time they spent together, the more he realized she deserves someone better. Someone not…damaged, like he is. Someone who is able to be happy, unlike him. Someone who can make her happy. He would only drag her down with him, like aunt Margaret said. John made his plan, and decided what to do. He gathered some courage from his godfather’s sherry supply, and thought he’d say a proper goodbye to Lizzy. He was a better poet than singer, but he wanted to do it right. The only song he remembered was the one he heard on the radio not long ago. It spoke to him. Well, lyrics were also poems, people just sang them, right? John staggered under Elizabeth’s window, and started humming, so low even he could barely hear it, then the song just made itself loud enough for her to come and check what causes the ruckus.

_“I gotta take a little time_

_A little time to think things over_

_Better read between the lines_

_In case I need it when I’m older_

_Now this mountain I must climb_

_Feels like the world upon my shoulders_

_Through the clouds I see love shine_

_It keeps me warm as life grows colder_

_In my life, there’s been heartache and pain_

_I don’t know if I can face it again_

_Can’t stop now, I’ve travelled so far_

_To change this lonely life...”_

Lights were shining through his godparents’ window as well, so his little serenade ended pretty fast. He saw Elizabeth’s smiling face as he made a run for it before uncle Samuel caught him. John was fast, but his godfather, also a man of considerable height and in a good condition despite his age, was just as fast. He was also drunk, which was in this case a disadvantage. The old former admiral caught him almost effortlessly. John got scolded and grounded, but the next morning, when he thought his head will split in two, his godfather offered him something for hangover. “The proverbial ‘Hair of the dog that bit you’, you know.” he said handing over a glass to the boy. John took it, and tried not to drink it all at once. “What do you want?” he heard the older man ask. He looked up, to the inquiring look on his godfather’s face. “What do you mean?” he asked back. Uncle Samuel put his own glass down to the coffee table, and gestured to the seat next to it. “I guess we need to talk a bit, John.” He smiled, seeing the mortified look on his godson’s face. “Don’t worry, you are not in trouble. Though I thought I would give you some proper lessons about singing for next time, to spare us and the neighbourhood from further torment.” John’s face clouded, and he collapsed into the armchair. His godfather sat opposite of him, and patiently waited until the teen felt ready to look him in the eye. “You love her, don’t you?” he asked, and John nodded, unable to speak. “You can trust me, I’ve been there too.” the older man added, mistaking the boy’s silence as mistrust. In reality, John was silent, because he couldn’t decide which troubling thought he should or could share with his godfather without ending up the same way as with aunt Margaret. His head was still hurting, and he decided to end the conversation as soon as possible. “I know I’m not the one for her.” he sighed after a long pause. “She deserves better” he quickly added before his godfather could object. “Aunt Margaret can rest assured that I will not ‘drag her with me to misery’ as she put it.” Admiral Graves shook his head and hid his face in his palms. “John, Maggie is just worried about Elizabeth. She didn’t mean to hurt you.” The boy doubted that, but he mustered some dignity to remain calm and cold while saying “I don’t know about that, but she can be sure that I will no longer be a threat to her beloved niece.” he took a deep breath and all his fears and hurt was locked away behind a wall as he stated “I’m leaving. I want to enlist, and serve my country, as I supposed to do.” His godfather nodded. “Very well, son.” They were talking about Afghanistan then, the ongoing conflict, and John’s eagerness to prove himself in battle. It turned out to be more pleasant than he thought. What he didn’t know, was that Elizabeth heard it all. She locked herself up in her room, and the last time he saw her, was when his adopted family escorted him to the train station. He looked Lizzy in the eye, kissed her one last time, and took the journal she gave to him as a parting gift. Then he turned away, barely hearing her saying “Travel safe”, while he boarded the train. This was the best thing he could give her. Freedom from him, the monster, the boy with the raincloud over his head.

                                                                                              ***

Months have passed and he’s been through his first skirmishes, got bombed by their allies in an accident, and got shot in the leg in an ambush. He had to remain in the hospital tent, and he wasn’t happy about it. The whole thing turned out differently than he thought. On the positive side, he was good with his combat skills. Everything that bothered him became distant when he was in a fight. He could concentrate on the methods, the strategy, the tactics, the means of executing the order. But on the negative side, he had to maintain a façade of being perfectly normal. If his troubles ever revealed, he would be invalided and sent back home. So Private Simcoe learned to act like he’s okay. Even when he was not. He remained calm even in the middle of rapid fire. His comrades in his unit admired him for it, while he was just so tired and drained, that he didn’t even care about the shells exploding nearby. He wouldn’t even care if one hit him. He was labelled ruthless for he held on to rage as his only emotion he could afford to let show. After a while, he got used to it. People, the other soldiers started to avoid him. They were gossiping. He always managed to get through fights without a scratch, and the blood sprayed all over him was not his. Not once. Until now. John sighed and leaned back to his pillow, looking at his wounded leg. He felt like a failure. The long, idle days grew on him, so to scare away his own demons, he started to write things in his Journal. Poems, short musings about his life in the camp. Then he finally healed enough to go back to the battlefield. The army was moving to another country, and he was eager to give hell to anyone opposing his leaders over there too. He found that rage and hatred suits him, liberates his mind from the harrowing thoughts of his own shortcomings and mistakes. He made himself a war machine, feared by everyone including allied soldiers. There were a few, who thought it would be good to make fun of him. They reconsidered it after they ended up in the hospital tent with wounds that probably leave scars for the rest of their life. He got detained, but he knew he was too good to lose, so after a few days MP let him out. He didn’t expect his rage to run out though. He’s been through Afghanistan, Pakistan, Syria, Lebanon, and after the third world war broke out, he was directed to the United States, to help out allied troops. Before it happened though, he almost got expelled.

 He had a break down, and was forced to enjoy the hospitality of a bunk in the surgeon’s tent. He thought he will feel angry, sad, or even glad to have some days off, but he felt empty. He refused to take duty one morning, feeling like lifting his handgun is too much of a task. Hell, even getting up was too much for him. He was forced though, so he answered with all the brutality and rage he could muster, then he was sobbing uncontrollably on the floor until medics came and his only so-called friend, Daniel Hawkins Md. convinced him to follow. “How long have you been suffering from depression, Lieutenant?” he asked. Simcoe didn’t answer. He didn’t feel like talking at all. Dan didn’t force him, but he kept asking things from time to time when he could get away from the dying and wounded. “John, you know it would be the best for you to go home.” he said. “I am home.” Simcoe answered, still not looking at the surgeon. “And why? Why you think that you belong in the fields of death instead of the place where someone is waiting for you?” John laughed without joy. “No one is waiting for me.” he said. “I saw you got mail from people.” Dan added, looking at the Lieutenant’s face. John felt a pang in his heart. He tried to keep the letters he received hidden, and he never answered them. He wanted to forget Elizabeth, but Dan just tore his barely closed wounds open. He tried to speak but felt like an unseen force closing his throat, paralysing his tongue and rendering him speechless. Dan sat on the side of his bed, and patted his shoulder. “I know about your condition.” he stated. “I have to write a medical report about you, and send it.” “Don’t!” Simcoe hissed, but his voice too much resembled begging. He couldn’t bear to be sent home, invalided, unfit for the only profession he ever felt a calling to. He couldn’t bear to be a failure. Dan squeezed his shoulder a little bit, and let him go. “Don’t worry. I can get you something that will help you out of this state, so you can go back to the field.” He shook his head. “But you know, I betray my oath with this. I should send you home.” Simcoe blinked and gathered all of his strength to speak. “Thank you.” he managed to squeak. Dan turned back to him with a sad expression. “Don’t thank me, John. I’m sending you to your death instead of saving you, as I should.”

But Fate –as ironic as she always loved to be – took Dan’s life sooner than John’s. After he got the much necessary treatment for his mental condition, he could fulfil his orders, and was hauled into a carrier along with Doc Dan and some other soldiers from his unit. They were ambushed on their way to the airport. Half of the unit died, the medic among them. Simcoe sat next to him, and the unfortunate surgeon’s blood was still spilled all over his face when he entered the aircraft that took him away from the old world, over to the new. On his way, John was thinking about the curious feeling of not feeling anything at all, about his best friend’s death.

 Then there was this city called Setauket-East Setauket, in New York state, Long Island. Behind even God’s back, a small town, surrounded by similar small towns. Consumed by them even. A small town of no importance. Lieutenant Simcoe asked himself what crime did he commit to be sent here, to this dull place, under the command of a certain unbearably offish officer by the name of Edmund Hewlett, Major in Her Majesty’s army. He, at first, tried his best to be useful for the garrison he had to call his new home, but it seemed like all the so-called soldiers here have never been in battle before. Simcoe quickly became infamous, gaining the resentment of the Major and his fellow soldiers. He was labelled insufferable, hot-headed, impulsive… And not without cause. He felt like a caged lion. Every idle day he had to waste from his life weighed him down, threatening him with the emerging darkness and ghosts from the past he was so eager to please with blood. So he frequented the local pub, usually drinking an amount of alcohol that would easily knock an elephant out. Sometimes he got in a fight, sometimes he started one. He always won. These guys here were wimps. He was telling this to Captain Joyce the day he first met the Woodhull kid. As usual, a fight broke out, but now he wasn’t in the mood, so he drew his pistol and shot to the air. Later he had to explain everything to that tosser that called himself Major. He got suspended, but Captain Joyce had it worse. His remains were found a day later in a ditch, near the road. Simcoe had his suspects about the murder, one of them was Cabbage boy, but no one believed him. After he got Joyce’s rank, some people even suspected him with the murder. Hewlett decided to remove him from the town, and sent him away on a mission. He ended up as a hostage for the independence-demanding state of New Jersey. With a concussion and a broken leg. He spent a month there, pretending to be crazy, so his captors left him alone. Finally, he got traded to a captured rebel officer by a Major John André. It ended well for him, considering getting the Rangers’ command. He finally got to see some action. Months passed and John finally was occupied with creating an elite unit from the rabble he got. His other superior – a hulking Scotsman by the name of Robert Rogers – wasn’t pleased. The two of them fought for leadership not-so secretly ever since Simcoe entered the picture. He had some unfinished business back in Setauket, so – unlike in any other occasion – he made an agreement with Rogers and took half of the Rangers with him, to station in his beloved-hated backwater neighbourhood, and leave the remaining men with their former leader. He got the motorized part of the unit, so they rode back to town like Hell’s Angels.

And they were acting like them too. Soon after their arrival, tension began to rise between the regulars and the Rangers. Their clashes became an everyday occasion, and John got tired of it quickly, so he lashed out on his own men just as much as on the regulars. He also went to negotiate with Hewlett about the ongoing clashes of the two units, suggesting that he and the regulars leave Setauket, but of course it didn’t happen. An order came however, so the Major left town escorting a convoy, with much needed supplies to New York City. Captain Simcoe thought he finally got rid of him. His relations to the townspeople weren’t on best terms, to say it lightly, and he blamed it on the Major. He heard the rumours, the people whispering behind his back, even the Rangers gossiping. His only form of haven was in the pub, and in the reluctant company of Anna Strong, the pub’s owner and proprietor. He knew he wasn’t too attractive and utterly lost on how to act around women, but he felt the same fuzzy, warm feeling looking at her, what he felt long ago. He didn’t know that she was studying psychology, and knew he has issues the first time he entered the pub. He desperately tried to get to her good sides, in vain. Maybe he was trying too hard. One night she said some nasty things to him, while they were fighting over their personal opinions regarding Major Hewlett. It was the night before the aforementioned officer left town with the convoy. John was a bit drunk, and plainly asked Anna what is her problem with him. She looked at him with an intense disgust, and it reflected in every word she said. Words. Labels. Monster. Mad dog. Unpredictable. Low. Inferior to the glorious Major in every aspect. Violent. He found himself grabbing her and shoving her to the wall. It all happened in a flash, and he was at his senses again, letting her go. Then he left without a word. It was the first time _that thought_ crossed his mind.

 

She came knocking at his door the next day. She was desperate, he was angry. But he was also willing to hear what she wanted to say. “If you could rescue the Major, I would be in your debt.” she told him, holding his hand. “Whatever you ask in return, I would be obliged to fulfil.” “I am a warrior, not a monster.” he answered, pulling his hand away. “You are the only one I can ask that!” she insisted. “Really now?” he asked with so much sarcasm it hurt even him. “You basically called me an irresponsible idiot just a few hours ago, and suddenly, when you need something, I’m your only hope? That’s rich, even from you.” Anna looked at him with her doe-eyes, and an expression that would make an iceberg melt. “Please, John. I understand if you’re mad at me, and I’m sorry if I hurt you.” He backed away, but deep inside he knew he’s lost. “You were drunk, and I was tired, and I had a rough day… I’m sorry.” “Apology accepted.” Simcoe nodded. Anna sat on his bunk bed, and hid her face in her palms. “It might be my paranoia, but I saw mines on the road. You do know that raiders are frequenting the area, and if they spotted the convoy – and let’s face it, it won’t be a hard thing to do – they could easily set up an ambush. You have to go and save who you can. Not just the Major.”

John looked at her absently, wondering what her agenda might be. “And why would I do that?” he asked in his indifferent, sing-song tone everyone seemed to be unnerved by. She stood up, walked back to him, and looked up right into his eyes. “To prove me wrong.” she said. “I called you a bully. A man without feelings or empathy. A monster. Go, save that convoy and Edmund, and I might change my opinion of you.” And these words were the ones he needed to hear to throw all of his concerns and clarity out the window. He went after the convoy. He found the Major. He helped him get the remaining two crates of supplies to the outpost in Queens, got shot, did a death-jump with his bike, and almost died on the surgeon’s table. He also got him back in one-piece, only to be faced with the cruel truth: He doesn’t matter. Anna shoved him away the moment she saw the Major. He left them to be alone with his gloomy thoughts. The Darkness emerged from its grave, haunted him at night, and kept on telling him the truth he desperately tried to hide away from. _You’re not wanted. You’re horrible. You’re not good enough. You’re a monster, and everyone would be better off without you._ He got through the days by being meaner than ever, broke some rules and bones, successfully pissing off the Major and the regulars. He turned his fear, hurt and despair into violence. It always worked. But, eventually, rage ran out, and the Darkness engulfed him. It happened on that nice, warm April evening.

 He walked to the clearing near the water. Sunset painted red lines on the surface, birds flew on their way back to their nests for the night. He didn’t even notice. The only thing he felt was the cold steel against his hand, and the tree barks against his back, as he leaned to one of the ancient plants. John was thinking for a while. He left a note in his diary, but the thing was hidden away even from his comrades. He didn’t trust anyone… Not that they would care anyway. Everyone hated him, they might even throw a party to celebrate. He let out a small chuckle, devoid of joy. Yes, they will probably declare the day they find his rotting carcass here in the woods, a local celebration. He was sure no one will come looking for him. Of course, Major Oyster will send some unfortunate recruit to search for him or simply declare him a deserter. He didn’t care about that either. He raised his right hand, and the gun in it. He felt nothing but emptiness, staring down the barrel of his Enfield. He was contemplating on the method. Should he put the pistol in his mouth? Or just hold it against his own head and shoot? What if he misses? He went closer to the water. If he won’t die from the shot, he should fall into the murky depths, and drown. He went into the waves until they reached his knees. The water was cold, but he barely felt it. He cocked his gun and held it against his chin. For a brief moment, he thought of Elizabeth. May she never learn about his deeds and his weakness. His finger pulled on the trigger… Then he lowered his arm, firing the gun at some unfortunate critter. He shot again, and again, until the clip was empty. He felt the usual rage taking away the agony and the emptiness. No, he will not die like a coward. He will not give in to his weakness, he’s not a snivelling child anymore. If he’s about to die, it will be in battle.

The residents and fellow soldiers gave him the eye as he walked past them, wet and in a foul mood.

“Captain!” he heard one of the Rangers calling. “Who were you trying to shoot?” Simcoe stopped and turned his head towards the soldier. His face was the good old expressionless mask. “Myself.” he answered in a neutral tone “But be sure that I will shoot you if you dare to tell anyone about it.”  

But word somehow got out anyway. Simcoe wasn’t really surprised when he got summoned to the Major’s office.

“You know why you’re here, Captain.” Hewlett stated. “To hear your lectures about my behaviour?” Simcoe asked indifferently. “To talk about your mental condition.” the Major’s voice softened. “You recently attempted suicide, John.” “So what?” his voice trilled, like it was nothing. The major took a deep breath. “You are showing symptoms of a serious mental illness. I already sent to the experts to take you with them.” Simcoe’s eyes flashed with rage. “With respect sir, I came here to fight. And I am able to, no need for another lengthy trip back to Philadelphia.” Hewlett looked at him, and clenched his jaw. “Captain, an attempted suicide is something I had to report. You will be invalided, and probably sent to a psychiatric hospital until your condition improves.” Simcoe was furious, but he managed to restrain himself. “Well, that’s a fine looking high horse you sit on, Major Oyster. Looks better than the one I shot.” Hewlett’s face distorted at the mention of his beloved mount, brought down by a bullet that was meant for him, by the same Captain he was about to talk some sense into. “Consider yourself lucky, because if I’d mention your other attempt at killing your commanding officer, you would be taken to court martial again, and were probably shot on spot.” Simcoe let a smug smile occupy his face. “Lucky me. Or maybe you just keep telling yourself that you did me any good with keeping me here, and alive.”  

Hewlett looked at him with a tired expression.

“We’ve been through this once. You insist seeing me as the guilty one, fine. But I reported your suicide attempt, and you will have to go to that counselling. It is an order.” His face softened again. “You need help. I can’t imagine what you have been through, but I just want to help you.” Simcoe laughed out loud, but his voice was dry and bitter. “How?” he asked. “How can you possibly think to have the power to keep my head above the water as the tide rises?” Hewlett looked confused, then he processed the Captain’s words. “Very poetic, John. But believe it or not, the counselling will be held to decide how to – how did you say it? – keep your head out of the water.”

Simcoe still looked at Hewlett with a curious gaze.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with whether I sink or swim.” he stated. “I hate you, you hate me, we should keep it that simple.”

The Major turned away.

“You will be interviewed by a host of superiors and a psychiatrist. If they find out about your illness, they will discharge you.”

Simcoe felt the usual rage building up inside.

“Is this what you call helping me, Eddie?”

“It is in your best interests, John.”

The Major’s condescending voice made Simcoe’s trigger finger itch. He looked down at his faithful bayonet in his belt. It would take only a short movement, and he’d be rid of this pompous midget. But then again, he had no alibi, and didn’t want to end up in prison. He just stroked the weapon, told himself “soon”, and kept staring at Hewlett’s back in hopes of two holes appear on it and he falls over dead.

“All right. I guess I have no choice.” Simcoe said on an indifferent tone. “When will they interview me?”

“On the day after tomorrow.” Hewlett answered, still not looking at the Captain. He turned around finally, to demand “Don’t do anything reckless!”

Simcoe just smiled at him with one of his usual half-smiles, not saying a word before turning around and leaving.

The interview went fairly well. Simcoe spent the last two days planning his moves, and he was eager to get face to face with the host of so-called superiors. He felt like he was at court martial again, so he prepared to defend himself accordingly. Hewlett was also there, among the military-personnel observing the interview. The psychiatrist asked him questions. He has heard them all ever since he was twelve, so it was no big deal to answer them according to his goal. Hewlett seemed very displeased, and that fact alone made Simcoe feel a bit better about himself. He was prepared for every question; his performance could win some award if he’d ever considered acting. He only seemed to get imbalanced when the interviewer touched the topic of his failed suicide attempt. “It… It wasn’t suicide, it was an accident.” he said on a perfect faux-innocence even he himself believed it. “My gun got jammed. It happens. My comrades and the locals probably heard the shots I fired as proof to the weapon working properly.”

“What about the Ranger under your command, who testified that you said you tried to shoot yourself?” the interviewer asked. He was presented with a canned answer right away. “Maybe it was wishful thinking on his behalf. I wasn’t trying to commit suicide.”

He was dismissed and declared healthy. He flashed a victorious grin at Hewlett as they walked past each other at the hallway.

The war ended a few years after that. The US was torn in two, fragile peace established between the Northern and Southern states, the Allies going back to their respective countries. Captain Simcoe was now just another civilian. He could choose either to go back to England (he didn’t dare, in fear of seeing Elizabeth already married or lost to him in one way or another, and he couldn’t bear to look his godfather in the eye), or to stay and start a new life in the States. He chose the latter. He drifted along on the back of his bike, and on the now military-checkpoint free highways, sometimes stopping in a city for a while. But he never seemed to fit in. He thought he would feel better, but he only felt empty. One city, just like the other. Horrible, lowly jobs to provide for himself. Misery, loneliness and agony all around. The Darkness returned, harrowing him with events of the war, his failures. He snapped once and got in a fight, and ended up in jail for a day. That was the first step down the road. He needed to distract his mind from the despair. And since violence was the only answer… He soon found some members of his former Rangers, and they re-formed their unit into a biker gang, that became nightmare-fuel for both civilians and law-enforcement alike. He felt like living again.

 Now, as he was sitting next to Lizzy, he barely could believe he got through all of this. They were talking all night, and he didn’t feel any difference, if not for the fear that now she hates him too. He could sense the stiffness of her movements, the cautious distancing. He will lose her. He let his guard down, put his mask away, peeled his armour off, and stood in front of her bare, just to make her hate him.

 Elizabeth leaned closer, put her head on his chest, and was listening to his heartbeat. She had all the evidence she needed, but she knew it won’t be enough if she wants to convince the law-enforcement. Besides, she was more worried about John than ever. She wanted to show him that she still loves him. But how could she prove it if he wants to believe in the opposite so much?

“I was waiting for you.” she muttered into his shirt. “I tried to date other men, but not one of them was like you… None of them were you.”

John looked down at her, unprepared for the confession.

“I thought you would be married long ago. That’s why I never dared to write to you…”

“Idiot.” Lizzy said and buried her face in John’s shirt again. “You were afraid if I forgot you.” she wrapped her arms around him, pulling his much bigger form as close as she could. “I owe you a confession, but I will only make it if you promise me something.”

John permitted himself a little smile. “What?” he asked, but he was preparing for the worst. Elizabeth looked up, her hazel eyes once again warmed his heart with their glow. He would promise anything and everything to her. “Never run away from me like that again!” Lizzy said. “I couldn’t bear to lose you for another decade.” John’s smile became wider. “I promise.” and he meant it. She smiled back at him, and pulled him down for a kiss, just like when they were teens. Only this time, it was more intense, had all the longing of a love denied for years. Her hands wandered up on his back, tangled in his long auburn mane, while his hand wandered to her thigh. It felt right. They were waiting twelve years for this to happen. Now there were no scornful aunts, gossipy housekeepers or sudden orders to be aware of. Just the two of them.

“I love you.” he breathed between two kisses. “I always loved you.” She just smiled and said “I know. I love you too.”

They didn’t remember how their clothes ended up on the floor, nor did they care. She was his and he was hers. Her curious hands stroked every one of his scars, while he kept kissing away her fears. His skin felt hot, her was soft. Their hearts and bodies entwined, leaving all the fear and doubt behind.

He wanted to tell her a lot of things. All those words he never dared to say, but they all seemed irrelevant now. Elizabeth was sleeping, cuddled up in John’s arms, burrowing her face in his neck. He couldn’t sleep, because of the torrent of different emotions he felt at the same time. It was like two halves of him collided, and yet he was content. His irrational fear of losing her returned, but he reminded himself, that she was there, in his arms, and he wasn’t dreaming this time. Her soft hair, warm skin, and low breathing all were signs of her being real, and not fantasy. Tonight he fought the Darkness once again, and won. He should let his weary soul rest. As he closed his eyes, he heard his phone buzzing, and he sat up, to search for it. All the peace and calmness he felt was swept away, as he heard the news from Tanner. The Old Chapter came to town, and looking for him. Simcoe smirked, and hung up. He quickly dressed up, gave the half-asleep Lizzy a goodbye kiss, and left.

 She lay there on the carpet, still feeling the aftertaste of their bedroom-battle. After John left, she took a shower and dressed up, when she spotted something on her coffee table. It was a small, worn, leather bound book. She instantly recognized it. Though she felt bad for spying into John’s personal Journal, she also felt the need to understand him. She still couldn’t quite get over the fact that the man she loved was a cold-blooded murderer, who also bullied and tortured people for the joy of it. She wanted to find something that will prove Anna Strong and detective Brewster and Major Tallmadge wrong. She opened the Journal, and saw the familiar handwriting. _“Property of John Graves Simcoe. If lost, return it to…”_ Elizabeth turned a page. She found notes that later turned out to be fragments of poems, and even fully written verses. But what really captured her attention, were the short, dated paragraphs she found on more and more pages as she progressed. _“20. Mar. 2020. Dan was a great guy. He showed me some pictures of his kids and wife, talked with me, when nobody else did… I was sitting next to him, when the carrier got hit by a grenade. I still feel the blood on my face. He’s no more. His head was gone. I still have nightmares about it sometimes, and wake up sweating and screaming. Sergeant asked me if I’m okay. I know what to say so I can avoid being sent home in shame. I have to keep going, be strong, don’t let anyone know. I’ll be fine.”_  Elizabeth turned a page again. “ _17\. June 2020. We were scouting the area according to information we got from the locals in Setauket. Met with a little resistance. I got stabbed. Private Roe wanted to help me, but he couldn’t make it. At least I could shoot the bastard that cut his throat. My friends and comrades are falling one-by-one, and I don’t know how to feel about that… For, I should feel something, am I? God, I’m so tired…”_ Elizabeth read a few lines of similar manner. All documented some skirmishes, some personal thoughts, and some other poems, but they were darker by nature. According to the diary, John started out as any regular guy, bit nervous about the war, and if he survives it, but the little hints that he made about his mental condition gave Elizabeth a reason to be concerned. _“I feel numb.”_ One of the entries said. John saw his share of battle and death, and it was taking a toll on him. Something he refused to acknowledge so far. After a while, his diary entries were nothing more than simple sentences, or just words. _“I don’t feel a thing.” “I’m alone” “The darkness is my friend.”_ Elizabeth read. The last entry before a bunch of empty pages, was a short suicide note. _“It seems like I’m not as strong as I want to be. I should say that I feel ashamed, or that I feel sad, but truth is, I can’t feel anything at all. For a long time now. Am I a monster? It’s not normal to not feel anything about the deaths of your whole unit, is it? I survived, but so far, I can’t see the bloody upside of it… Nobody wants me to be around. Nobody cares. I’m tired, and was thinking for the last few idle days. This is my only chance. I don’t want to be a monster… I don’t want to be a wreck either. I panic every time I hear a loud sound… I have to do this. I don’t want to be weak… I can’t afford to be…”_ Elizabeth felt her eyes tearing up. She didn’t know about John’s suicide attempt, nor did anyone. She lowered the notebook, and tried to calm down. She found the poems he wrote for her, but never showed. She held the diary close for a moment, and reached for her phone. She knew that she has to do this quickly, before she has a chance to change her mind. She called John’s number, but got only his voicemail. “Where did you go? Please, call me back!” she pleaded, and hoped he will call. She placed everything back to its former place, and was looking at her phone in every minute. Finally, after a millennium long five minutes, he called. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, and Elizabeth felt deeply ashamed for spying after him, but also felt mad at him for keeping all of those things away. “I woke up and you were gone without a word. I was just worried.” Elizabeth heard John sigh at the other end of the line. “Listen, I had no time to explain things to you, Lizzy. I had to leave quickly, because some of my… Friends need my help. I’ll go back to you, when I’m done with my odds and ends, all right?” Elizabeth leaned to the wall, and ran her fingers through her hair, to get it out of her face. “I suppose so. But don’t keep me waiting too long!” He laughed, and said goodbye, then hung up. Elizabeth was contemplating what to do. She could copy his Journal, and present it as evidence for his mental state. But what if he finds out? He would feel betrayed, and rightfully so… Betraying his feelings was the last thing she ever wanted to do. She has to convince him to seek help on his own free will. She put on a coat, and went out to buy a few things. It was getting late, so she couldn’t go too far. As she was heading home with a plastic bag of necessities, she saw the window of a jewellery shop, and one pair of earrings caught her attention. It wasn’t on display at the window, rather inside the shop’s corner. Lizzy raised her brow, counted her finances, and entered the shop. The lady at the counter was surprised of her request to see the odd piece made of silver, formed to a shape of a dove. “I don’t know, miss…” she said “This one is waiting for to be smelted and added into some more valuable jewelry. I’m sure we can find something else that would be to your liking.” Elizabeth shook her head. “No, thank you, I’ve made my choice. I’d like this one.” She got strange looks, especially when she also paid for her new piece to be pierced into her ear. She already had earrings, but considering that her new piece was odd, she decided to undergo the procedure again, so she can always wear it along with a normal pair of earrings. She felt the short, sharp pain, and then it dulled as antiseptic and painkiller solution was applied to her left ear. She remembered John’s injury. It just dawned on her, that she now has the sign of belonging to him in the same ear he had lost. She smiled, and waited for him to come home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but not sorry. =P  
> Well, I hope I didn't go overboard with cheese in this one, or that nobody became too OOC, and poor John's condition didn't turn out to be too "Hollywood description of all mental illnesses ever". Every twisting of show-'verse or historical events was for the sake of this narrative. (Percy falling off from the first floor, for example.)  
> \- Odd pairs of silver dove earrings are worn by "biker-wives", as a tell. Lizzy shows she belongs with John by wearing that sign.  
> \- As far as my knowledge goes, a "purple heart" is given to soldiers who were wounded in battle.
> 
> Up next: Corrosion. Biker gang wars. Robert Rogers is back, and he's mad. Abe barely gets away and Simcoe tells him he knows he's a mole. Fun stuff. Stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry everyone, but I have a lot on my plate right now, also some major troubles IRL, so for the sake of my other projects, I put this one on hold for... I don't know when. I'm sorry again if you liked this fic, I might return to it if I managed to finish the others I'm working on, but I don't want to make empty promises.


End file.
